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YOUNG 
AMERICAN 


JANE  EAYRE  FRYER 


OUR  HOME 

AND  PERSONAL  DUTY 


YOUNG     AMERICAN     RE;A.pE,RS 

OUR  HOME 
AND  PERSONAL  DUTY 


BY 

JANE  EAYRE  FRYER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MARY  FRANCES  STORY-INSTRUCTION  BOOKS" 
ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  EDNA  A.  COOKE  AND  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


In  these  vital  tasks  of  acquiring  a  broader  view  of 
human  possibilities  the  common  school  must  have  a  large 
part.  I  urge  that  teachers  and  other  school  officers 
increase  ma!  er -'ally  the  time  and  attention  devoted  to 
instruction  bearing  directly  on  the  problems  of  com- 
munity and  national  life. — WOODROW  WILSON. 


THE  JOHN  C.   WINSTON   COMPANY,   PUBLISHERS 
PHILADELPHIA  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT  1918  BY 
THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  Co. 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 
EDUCATION 


CIVICS  FOR  AMERICAN  CHILDREN 

The  notion  of  what  constitutes  adequate  civics  teaching 
in  our  schools  is  rapidly  changing.  The  older  idea  was 
based  on  the  theory  that  children  were  not  citizens — that 
only  adults  were  citizens.  Therefore,  civics  teaching  was 
usually  deferred  to  the  eighth  grade,  or  last  year  of 
the  grammar  school,  and  then  was  mostly  confined  to  a 
memorizing  of  the  federal  constitution,  with  brief  com- 
ments on  each  clause.  Today  we  recognize  that  even 
young  children  are  citizens,  just  as  much  as  adults  are, 
and  that  what  is  wanted  is  not  training  for  citizenship  but 
training  in  citizenship.  Moreover,  we  believe  that  the 
"good  citizen"  is  one  who  is  good  for  something  in  all 
the  relationships  of  life. 

HABIT  FORMATION 

Accordingly,  a  beginning  is  being  made  with  the  early 
school  years,  where  an  indispensable  foundation  is  laid 
through  a  training  in  "morals  and  manners."  This  sounds 
rather  old-fashioned,  but  nothing  has  been  discovered 
to  take  its  place.  Obedience,  cleanliness,  orderliness, 
courtesy,  helpfulness,  punctuality,  truthfulness,  care  of 
property,  fair  play,  thoroughness,  honesty,  respect,  courage, 
self-control,  perseverance,  thrift,  kindness  to  animals, 
"safety  first" — these  are  the  fundamental  civic  virtues 
which  make  for  good  citizenship  in  the  years  to  come. 
Of  course,  the  object  is  to  establish  right  habits  of  thought 
and  action,  and  this  takes  time  and  patience  and  sympathy; 
but  the  end  in  view  justifies  the  effort.  The  boy  or  girl 
who  has  become  habitually  orderly  and  courteous  and 
helpful  and  punctual  and  truthful,  and  who  has  acquired 


a  fair  degree  of  courageous  self-control,  is  likely  to  become 
a  citizen  of  whom  any  community  may  well  be  proud. 

DRAMATIZATION 

The  best  results  are  found  to  be  secured  through  stories, 
poems,  songs,  games,  and  the  dramatization  of  the  stories 
found  in  books  or  told  by  the  teacher.  This  last  is  of  great 
value,  for  it  sets  up  a  sort  of  brief  life-experience  for  the 
child  that  leaves  a  more  lasting  impression  than  would 
the  story  by  itself.  Most  of  the  stories  told  in  this  reader, 
emphasizing  certain  of  the  civic  virtues  enumerated  above, 
will  be  found  to  lend  themselves  admirably  to  simple  drama- 
tization by  the  pupils,  the  children's  imagination  supplying 
all  deficiencies  in  costumes,  scenery,  and  stage  settings. 
Moreover,  the  questions  following  the  text  will  help  the 
teacher  to  "point  the  moral"  without  detracting  in  the 
slightest  degree  from  the  interest  of  the  story. 

COMMUNITY  SERVANTS 

The  basis  for  good  citizenship  having  been  laid  through 
habit-formation  in  the  civic  virtues,  the  next  step  is  for 
the  children  to  learn  how  these  virtues  are  being  embodied 
in  the  people  round  about  them  who  are  serving  them  and 
their  families.  The  baker,  the  milkman,  the  grocer,  the 
dressmaker,  the  shoemaker,  the  carpenter,  the  plumber, 
the  painter,  the  physician,  the  druggist,  the  nurse — these 
are  the  community  servants  who  come  closest  to  the  life- 
experience  of  the  children. 

How  dependent  each  member  of  a  community — especially 
an  urban  community — is  on  all  the  rest,  and  how  important 
it  is  that  each  shall  contribute  what  he  can  to  the  com- 
munity's welfare,  are  illustrated  by  the  stories  of  the  Duwell 
family.  Here  a  typical  though  somewhat  ideal  American 

(iv) 


family  is  shown  in  its  everyday  relations,  as  a  constant 
recipient  of  the  services  rendered  by  those  community 
agents  who  supply  the  fundamental  need  of  food,  clothing, 
shelter,  and  medical  attendance.  The  children  in  the 
class  will  learn,  with  the  Duwell  children,  both  the  actual 
services  that  are  rendered  and  the  family's  complete 
dependence  on  those  services.  Moreover,  they  will  acquire 
the  splendid  working  ideals  of  interdependence  and  co- 
operation. And,  finally,  they  will  discover  that  the  adult 
citizens  who  are  rendering  them  these  services  are  embody- 
ing the  very  civic  virtues  in  which  they  themselves  have 
been  so  carefully  trained. 

PUBLIC  SERVANTS 

The  pupils  are  now  ready  to  follow  the  services  rendered 
by  public  servants  such  as  the  policeman,  the  fireman, 
the  street  cleaner,  the  ashes  and  garbage  collector,  the 
mail  carrier;  and  by  those  who  furnish  water,  gas,  electricity, 
the  telephone,  the  trolley,  etc.;  and  these  are  presented 
in  civics  readers  that  follow  this  one.  The  civic  virtues 
previously  considered  are  again  found  exemplified  to  a 
marked  degree;  and  the  threefold  idea  of  dependence,  in- 
terdependence, and  cooperation  through  community  agencies 
finds  ample  illustration. 

TRAINING  FOR  CITIZENSHIP 

But  it  is  not  enough  for  the  pupils  to  stop  with  finding 
out  what  the  community  is  doing  for  them.  The  essential 
thing  in  this  citizenship-training  is  for  the  young  citizens 
to  find  out  what  they  can  do  to  help  things  along.  Civic 
activities  are  suggested  both  in  the  stories,  poems,  etc., 
in  these  books,  and  in  the  suggestive  questions  at  the  close 
of  each  chapter. 

(v) 


Like  all  texts  or  other  helps  in  education,  these  civics 
readers  cannot  teach  themselves  or  take  the  place  of  a 
live  teacher.  But  it  is  believed  that  they  can  be  of  great 
assistance  to  sympathetic,  civically  minded  instructors  of 
youth  who  feel  that  the  training  of  our  children  in  the 
ideals  and  practices  of  good  citizenship  is  the  most  impera- 
tive duty  and  at  the  same  time  the  highest  privilege  that 
can  come  to  any  teacher.  J.  LYNN  BARNARD. 

Philadelphia  School  of  Pedagogy. 
April  1,  1918. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Special  thanks  are  due  to  Doctor  J.  Lynn  Barnard  of 
the  Philadelphia  School  of  Pedagogy,  for  valuable  sugges- 
tions and  helpful  criticism  in  the  making  of  this  reader; 
also  to  Miss  Isabel  Jean  Galbraith,  a  demonstration  teacher 
of  the  Philadelphia  School  of  Pedagogy,  for  assistance  in 
preparing  the  questions  on  the  lessons. 

For  kind  permission  to  use  stories  and  other  material, 
thanks  are  due  to  the  following:  The  Ohio  Humane  Soci- 
ety for  " Little  Lost  Pup,"  by  Arthur  Guiterman;  Mrs. 
Huntington  Smith,  President  Animal  Rescue  League  of 
Boston,  for  "The  Grocer's  Horse,"  and  to  her  publishers, 
Ginn  and  Company;  Mary  Craige  Yarrow  for  "Poor  Little 
Jocko";  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for  "Baking  the 
Johnny-cake";  The  American  Humane  Education  Society 
for  selection  by  George  T.  Angell;  and  to  the  Red  Cross 
Magazine  for  several  photographs. 


(vi) 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OP  THE  PLAN  OP  THE  YOUNG  AMERICAN  READERS 

It  may  be  said  that  a  child's  life  and  experience  move  forward  in  ever 
widening  circles,  beginning  with  the  closest  intimate  home  relations, 
and  broadening  out  into  knowledge  of  community,  of  city,  and  finally  of 
national  life. 

A  glance  at  the  above  diagram  will  show  the  working  plan  of  the  Young 
American  Readers.  This  plan  follows  the  natural  growth  and  development 
of  the  child's  mind,  and  aims  by  teaching  the  civic  virtues  and  simplest 
community  relations  to  lay  the  foundations  of  good  citizenship.  See  Outline 
of  Work  on  page  231. 


(vii) 


CONTENTS 


PART   I 
CIVIC  VIRTUES 

Stories  Teaching  Thoroughness,  Honesty,  Respect, 
Patriotism,  Kindness  to  Animals. 

Thoroughness  PAGE 

THE  LITTLE  PRAIRIE  DOGS  AND  OLD  MR.  WOLF      3 

DON'T  GIVE  UP,  Phcebe  Gary. ..•.,-•• 8 

THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  SHALLOW  PIER 9 

THE  THOUGHTFUL  BOY 16 

GRANDFATHER'S  STORY 17 

Honesty 

HONEST  ABE 23 

I.  THE  BROKEN  BUCK-HORN 23 

II.  THE  RAIN-SOAKED  BOOK 24 

III.  THE  YOUNG  STOREKEEPER 26 

DRY  RAIN  AND  THE  HATCHET 28 

I.  How  DRY  RAIN  GOT  His  NAME 28 

II.  DRY  RAIN  GOES  TRADING 29 

THE  SEVEN  CRANBERRIES 32 

THE  DONKEY'S  TAIL 36 

HURTING  A  GOOD  FRIEND 39 

(ix) 


Respect  PAGE 

A  SCHOOL  WITHOUT  A  TEACHER 42 

OUR  FLAG 47 

SCOUT'S  PLEDGE 48 

MY  GIFT.  . ; 49 

FLAG  DAY 49 

How  OUR  FLAG  DEVELOPED 52 

THE  FLAG  OP  THE  U.  S.  A 54 

THE  AMERICAN  FLAG,  Joseph  Rodman  Drake ....  55 

Kindness  to  Animals 

THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  CHEESEY 56 

I.  THE  DOG  AND  THE  POLICEMAN 56 

II.  THE  POLICEMAN'S  STORY 57 

III.  CHEESEY'S  CHRISTMAS  PRESENTS 58 

THE  CHAINED  DOG 60 

LITTLE  LOST  PUP,  Arthur  Guiterman 62 

PICTURE  OF  RED  CROSS  ARMY  DOGS 64 

THE  HUNTING  PARTY 66 

THE  LOST  KITTY,  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  67 

MY  PECULIAR  KITTY 68 

POOR  LITTLE  JOCKO 69 

ROBIN  REDBREAST 74 

WHO  KILLED  COCK  ROBIN? 75 

MY  FRIEND,  MR.  ROBIN 77 

IF  ALL  THE  BIRDS  SHOULD  DIE,  George  T.  Angell  78 

FURRY 80 

THE  GROCER'S  HORSE  (adapted),  Mrs.  Huntington 

Smith 83 

I.  THE  CARELESS  DRIVER 83 

II.  WHAT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  BARN 86 

A  LETTER  FROM  A  HORSE 88 

A  PLEA  FOR  THE  HORSE  . .  89 


(x) 


PART  II 
COMMUNITY  OCCUPATIONS 

Stories  about  People  Who  Minister  to  Our  Daily 
Needs. 

People  Who  Provide  Us  with  Food  PAGE 

THE  'BAKER 95 

I.  AN  EARLY  CALL 95 

II.  THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE 99 

III.  A  VISIT  TO  THE  BAKERY 101 

IV.  WHERE  THE  WHEAT  COMES  FROM 107 

BAKING  THE  JOHNNY-CAKE Ill 

THE  MILKMAN 115 

I.  BEFORE  THE  SUN  RISES 115 

II.  MILK,  FROM  FARM  TO  FAMILY 119 

THE  GROCER 122 

I.  THE  OLD-TIME  GROCER 122 

II.  THE  MODERN  GROCER 125 

People  Who  Help  Clothe  Us 

THE  TAILOR 127 

I.  THE  ACCIDENT 127 

II.  AT  THE  TAILOR  SHOP 129 

III.  WHAT  THE  TAILOR  SAVED   THE   DUWELL 

FAMILY 132 

THE  DRESSMAKER 134 

I.  AN  INVITATION  TO  A  PARTY 134 

II.  A  DISAPPOINTMENT 136 

III.  AT  THE  DRESMAKER'S 137 

IV.  THE  PARTY 142 

THE  SILK  DRESS 144 

(xi) 


PAGE 

THE  SHOEMAKER  . . . ' 145 

I.  THE  WORN  SHOES 145 

II.  SHOEMAKERS  WHO  BECAME  FAMOUS 150 

III.  AT  THE  SHOEMAKER'S  SHOP 152 

People  Who  Supply  Us  with  Shelter 

THE  CARPENTER 154 

I.  A  TRIP  INTO  THE  .COUNTRY 134 

II.  THE  SAWMILL 158 

III.  THE  CARPENTER 161 

IV.  THE  WOLF'S  DEN 163 

V.  THE  CAVE  DWELLERS 165 

THE   BRICKLAYER 168 

I.  THE  FALLEN  CHIMNEY 168 

II.  THE  BRICKLAYER 172 

III.  AFTER  SCHOOL  . .  . 173 

THE  PLUMBER,  THE  PLASTERER,  THE  PAINTER..  176 

I.  A  VISIT  TO  A  LITTLE  TOWN 176 

II.  AT  HOME 178 

III.  THE  NEW  KITCHEN 179 

People  Who  Supply  Us  with  Fuel 

THE  COAL  MAN  AND  THE   MINER 181 

I.  BLACK  DIAMONDS 181 

II.  IN  A  COAL  MINE..  183 


People  Who  Care  for  Our  Health 

THE  DENTIST 187 

I.  WHY  RUTH  WAS  AFRAID 187 

II.  AT  THE  DENTIST'S. 190 

(xii) 


PAGE 

THE  DRUGGIST,  THE  NURSE,  AND  THE  DOCTOR..  192 

I.  THE  SICK  BABY 192 

II.  THE  DRUGGIST.  .   194 

III.  THE  TRAINED  NURSE 196 

IV.  THE  DOCTOR,  A  HERO 199 

ONE  FOR  ALL  AND  ALL  FOR  ONE  (a  play) 201 


PART  III 
THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS 

Junior  Membership  and  School  Activities. 

THE  JUNIOR  RED  CROSS 209 

THE  PRESIDENT'S  PROCLAMATION 210 

THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS  IN  TIMES  OF  PEACE 211 

THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS  IN  TIMES  OF  WAR 215 

BEFORE  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  RED  CROSS 215 

FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE 216 

How  THE  RED  CROSS  CAME  TO  BE 219 

How  I  CAN  HELP  THE  RED  CROSS 222 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAMP  (a  play) 224 

ACT  I.       THE  SICK  DOLL 224 

ACT  II.      GOOD  OLD  CAP 225 

ACT  III.    THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAMP 227 

YOU   AND    I   AND   ALL   OF   Us .  .  228 


(xiii) 


FART 


CIVIC  VIRTUES 

Stories  Teaching  Thoroughness,  Honesty. 

Respect,  Patriotism,  Kindness  to 

Animals 

These  stories  also  teach,  incidentally,  the  co-ordinate  virtues 
of  obedience,  cleanliness,  orderliness,  courtesy,  helpfulness 
punctuality;  truthfulness,  care  of  property,  and  fair  play. 


THE  LITTLE  PRAIRIE  DOGS  AND 
OLD  MR.  WOLF 

I. 

Once  upon  a  time,  three  fat  little  prairie  dogs 
lived  together  in  a  nice  deep  burrow,  where  they 
were  quite  safe  and  warm  and  snug. 

These  little  prairie  dogs  had  very  queer  names. 
One  was  Jump,  another  was  Bump,  and  another 
was  Thump. 

Well,  they  lived  very  happily  together  until  one 
day  Jump  said,  "I  believe  I  would  rather  live 
up  on  top  of  the  ground  than  in  this  burrow. " 

"I  believe  I  would,  too,"  said  Bump. 

"I  believe  I  would!"  said  Thump.  "HI  tell 
you  what  we  can  do !  Let  us  each  build  a  house ! ' ' 


"Let  us-!"'  cried  Jump  and  Bump,  and  away 
they  all  scampered  up  out  of  the  burrow. 

Each  one  ran  in  a  different  direction  to  hunt 
for  something  to  use  in  building  a  house. 

Jump  gathered  some  straws. 

"These  will  do,"  he  thought.  "I  shall  not 
bother  to  look  for  anything  else.  Besides,  they 
are  very  light  and  easy  to  carry." 

So  Jump  built  a  little  straw  house. 

Bump  gathered  some  sticks. 

"These  will  make  a  nice  house.  They  are 
quite  good  enough,"  he  said. 

So  Bump  built  a  little  stick  house. 

Thump  saw  the  straw  and  the  sticks,  but 
thought  he  might  find  something  better. 

Pretty  soon  he  came  to  a  pile  of  stones. 

"My,  what  a  fine  strong  house  they  would 
make ! "  he  thought.  "They  are  heavy  to  move, 
but  I  will  try  to  use  them." 

So  he  carried  and  carried  and  worked  and 
worked,  but  finally  he  had  a  stone  house. 

II. 

The  next  morning  when  old  Mr.  Prairie  Wolf 
awoke  and  stretched  himselfj  he  saw  the  three 
little  houses  in  the  distance. 

"What  can  they  be?  "  wondered  old  Mr.  Wolf. 

4 


" Maybe  I  can  get  breakfast-  over  there."  So 
he  started  toward  them. 

The  first  house  he  came  to  was  the  straw  one. 

He  peeped  in  the  window  and  saw  little  Jump. 

He  knocked  on  the  door.  "Mr.  Jump,  let 
me  come  in/'  said  he. 

"Oh,  no,  by  my  bark — bark — bark!  you  can- 
not come  in,"  barked  little  Jump,  pushing  with 
all  his  might  against  the  door  with  his  little 
paws. 

"Then  I'll  blow  your  house  over  with  one  big 
breath ! ' '  growled  old  Mr.  Prairie  Wolf. 

So  he  blew  one  mighty  breath,  and  blew  the 
house  over,  and  ate  up  poor  little  Jump. 

On  his  way  home,  old  Mr.  Wolf  stopped  to 
look  in  the  window  of  the  little  stick  house. 
He  saw  little  Bump. 

"My,  what  a  good  breakfast  I  shall  have  to- 
morrow ! "  he  thought  to  himself. 

The  next  morning  he  came  early  and  knocked 
on  the  door  of  the  little  stick  house. 

"Mr.  Bump,  Mr.  Bump,"  said  he,  "let  me 
come  in." 

"Oh,  no,  by  my  bark — bark — bark!  you  can- 
not come  in,"  barked  little  Bump,  standing  on 
his  hind  legs  with  his  back  braced  against  the 
door. 

5 


"Then  I'll  throw  your  house  over  with  one 
blow  of  my  paw/'  growled  old  Mr.  Prairie  Wolf. 
And  he  did,  and  ate  up  poor  little  Bump. 

HI. 

On  his  way  home,  he  stopped  to  look  in  the 
window  of  the  little  stone  house. 

Thump  sat  by  the  fireplace  toasting  his  feet. 

"My,  my!"  chuckled  old  Mr.  Wolf,  smacking 
his  lips,  "he  is  the  fattest  one  of  all.  What  a 
fine  breakfast  I  shall  have  to-morrow !" 

The  next  morning  he  came  earlier  than  ever, 
and  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  little  stone  house. 

"Mr.  Thump,  let  me  come  in,"  said  he. 

"All  right,"  called  little  Thump,  "when  my 
feet  get  warm." 

So  old  Mr.  Prairie  Wolf  sat  down  to  wait. 

By  and  by,  old  Mr.  Wolf  knocked  on  the  door 
again.  ' '  Aren't  your  feet  warm  yet,  Mr.  Thump ? ' ' 
he  growled. 

"Only  one,"  called  Thump;  "you  will  have  to 
wait  until  the  other  one  is  warm." 

So  old  Mr.  Wolf  sat  down  to  wait. 

After  a  few  minutes  had  passed,  he  knocked 
on  the  door  again. 

' '  Isn't  your  other  foot  warm  yet,  Mr.  Thump  ? ' ' 
he  growled. 


"Yes,"  called  Thump,  "but  the  first  one  is 
cold  now/' 

"See  here,  Mr.  Thump/'  growled  old  Mr. 
Wolf,  "do  you  intend  to  keep  me  waiting  all  day 
while  you  warm  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other? 
I  am  tired  of  such  foolishness.  I  want  my  break- 
fast. Open  the  door,  or  I'll  knock  your  house 
over!" 

"Oh,  all  right,"  barked  little  Thump,  "and 
while  you  are  doing  it,  I  shall  eat  my  breakfast. " 

That  made  old  Mr.  Prairie  Wolf  very  angry, 
and  he  kicked  at  the  little  stone  house  with  all 
his  might ;  but  little  Thump  knew  he  could  not 
move  a  stone. 


After  a  long  while  the  noise  stopped,  and  little 
Thump  peeped  out  of  the  window.  He  saw  old 
Mr.  Wolf  limping  painfully  off;  and  that  was 
the  way  he  always  remembered  him,  for  he  never 
never  saw  him  again. 

This  story,  which  is  built  on  the  framework  of  the  old  classic, 
"  The  Three  Pigs,"  lends  itself  readily  to  dramatization.  Let  the 
four  characters  take  their  par'ts  as  they  remember  the  story.  By 
no  means  have  them  memorize  the  words. 

QUESTIONS 

Which  little  prairie  dog  worked  hardest  to  build  his  house? 

The  others  had  an  easy  time,  didn't  they? 

But  which  one  was  happiest  in  the  end?     Why? 

DON'T  GIVE  UP 

If  you've  tried  and  have  not  won, 

Never  stop  for  crying ; 
All  that's  great  and  good  is  done 

Just  by  patient  trying. 

Though  young  birds,  in  flying,  fall, 
Still  their  wings  grow  stronger ; 

And  the  next  time  they  can  keep 
Up  a  little  longer. 

If  by  easy  work  you  beat, 

Who  the  more  will  prize  you? 

Gaining  victory  from  defeat, 
That's  the  test  that  tries  you ! 

— Phcebe  Cary. 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  SHALLOW  PIER 

I. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  mother  loved  her  little 
boy  so  well  that  she  made  the  mistake  of  offend- 
ing one  of  his  good  fairies.  This  was  the  fairy 
of  carefulness. 

The  mother  made  the  mistake  of  trying  to  do 
everything  for  her  little  son.  She  even  put  his 
toys  away  when  he  was  tired  of  playing. 

After  the  boy  grew  older  and  went  to  school, 
she  did  many  of  his  lessons  for  him.  His  daily 


marks  in  arithmetic  were  good,  for  much  of 
his  work  was  done  by  his  mother  at  home.  Of 
course  his  teacher  did  not  know  this  for  the  boy 
copied  his  mother's  work. 

Now,  just  as  you  would  expect,  this  made 
the  boy  very  careless.  But  he  was  really  a 
bright  boy,  and  even  though  he  did  not  do  well, 
he  managed  to  pass  his  examinations. 

"If  you  would  only  be  more  careful,"  his 
teachers  would  say,  "you  would  have  the  highest 
marks." 

When  his  mother  saw  his  reports,  she  would 
say:  "Oh,  isn't  this  too  bad,  son;  I  know  you 
will  have  better  marks  next  time. ' ' 

So,  when  the  boy  became  a  man  he  did  every- 
thing in  the  same  careless  manner,  forgetting 
that  other  people  would  not  excuse  him  as  his 
mother  had  done. 

Now  the  good  fairy  of  carefulness  was  very 
much  offended  at  the  way  in  which  the  mother 
spoiled  her  little  son.  So  she  said  to  herself,  "I 
must,  I  must  teach  that  boy  a  lesson ! ' ' 

n. 

When  he  was  little,  this  boy  was  very  fond  of 
playing  at  building  bridges.  After  he  was  grown 

up,  he  became  a  builder  of  real  bridges. 

10 


At  first,  he  built  only  small  bridges  over  the 
brooks  and  little  streams,  but  one  day  an  order 
was  given  him  to  build  an  important  bridge  over 
a  large  river. 

Just  as  you  might  guess,  this  pleased  the  man 
very  much,  and  he  was  glad  to  begin  the  work 
at  once. 

Soon  his  men  were  busy,  putting  in  the  piers 
for  the  new  bridge,  and  he  was  hurrying  them  as 
fast  as  he  could,  in  order  to  get  the  bridge  built 
on  time. 

Every  day  he  sat  in  a  rowboat  calling  to  his 
men.  They  were  about  to  begin  work  on  the 
middle  pier  when  the  foreman  of  the  workers 
came  to  him. 

"Mr.  Builder,"  he  said,  "I  think  we  shall 
have  to  wait  for  more  material  if  we  go  down  to 
the  right  depth  for  this  pier." 

" Nonsense,  man,"  said  the  builder,  "we  have 
no  time  to  wait.  There  is  a  pretty  good  bottom 
under  that  place.  Don't  go  so  deep.  Get  along 
with  the  material  you  have." 

"But,  sir,—    '  began  the  man. 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,"  ordered  the  builder. 

"All  right,  sir,"  replied  the  foreman;  "you 
may  order  that  done,  but  one  of  the  other  men 

will  have  to  do  the  job." 

11 


II 

it 


Very  well, "  was  the  angry  reply  of  the  builder, 
Jim  Nevermind  will  take  your  place." 
The  foreman  slowly  drew  on  his  jacket. 
" Somebody  will  pay  for  such  carelessness/'  he 
muttered.  "I  hope  it  will  not  be—  but  the 
rest  of  the  sentence  was  drowned  by  the  orders 
of  the  new  foreman. 

III. 

In  a  very  short  time  the  bridge  was  finished 
and  the  inspector  came  to  look  it  over. 

"It  looks  all  right/  'he  said.  "Are  you  sure 
the  piers  are  sound?  I  haven't  time  to  examine 
them,  but  I  know  that  a  man  who  has  built  as 
many  bridges  as  you,  would  make  them  right." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased,  sir,"  replied  the 
builder. 

"You  have  certainly  made  record  time,"  con- 
tinued the  inspector,  "and  I  shall  carry  back  a 
good  report." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  builder; 
but  his  pleasure  was  somewhat  spoiled  because 
of  the  shallow  pier. 

"It  is  all  nonsense,"  he  thought,  "to  be  so 
particular;  besides,  the  current  in  that  river  is 
so  slow  that  there  is  no  danger. ' '  And  it  seemed 
true,  for  three  years  later,  the  bridge  appeared 

12 


to  be  as  firm  and  strong  as  when  it  was  first 
built. 

IV. 

But  one  day  in  the  early  part  of  the  fourth  year 
there  came  a  great  flood.  The  slow-moving  cur- 
rent became  a  raging  torrent,  sweeping  every- 
thing in  its  way  and  blocking  large  timbers  and 
trees  against  the  bridge. 

It  so  happened  that  a  party  of  young  people 
were  riding  along  in  a  big  hay  wagon  drawn 
by  four  beautiful  bay  horses.  When  they  came 
to  the  bridge  the  driver  stopped. 

" Shall  we  cross?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  children  shouted,  "it  will  be 
fun." 

"It  looks  safe  enough,"  said  one  of  the  two 
grown  people  who  were  with  them.  So  with  a 
"Gee-up,  boys,"  to  the  horses,  the  driver  started 
across  the  bridge. 

Just — ah,  you  know,  don't  you?  Just  as  they 
reached  the  middle  pier,  there  came  a  creak  and 
a  rumble,  a  moment's  swaying,  and  a  crash. 
The  bridge  had  caved  in,  and  the  hay  wagon, 
full  of  terror-stricken  children,  together  with  the 
frightened  horses,  was  swept  into  the  water. 

"Don't  jump!"   shouted   the   driver  to   the 

13 


children,  trying  to  guide  the  swimming  horses 
shoreward ;  but  that  was  impossible. 

For  a  full  minute,  which  seemed  like  hours, 
they  were  swept  onward.  Then, — maybe  the 
good  fairy  of  carefulness  had  planned  it — they 
rested  on  a  little  island  the  top  of  which  was 
just  covered  with  water. 

The  white-faced  driver  counted  the  children, 
" All  here!  Thank  God ! "  he  said. 

The  little  folks  cried  and  hugged  each  other 
and  called  aloud  for  their  mothers  and  fathers. 

They  had  to  stay  there  all  night,  cold  and 
frightened  and  hungry.  That  was  dreadful 
enough,  but  it  was  nothing  compared  with  the 
fear  that  the  water  might  rise  higher  still. 

But  slowly  and  steadily  it  went  down,  and  by 
early  morning  all  of  the  little  island  was  un- 
covered. All  the  party  were  then  quickly  rescued 
with  boats. 

V. 

The  builder  started,  as  the  heading  in  the 
evening  paper  caught  his  eye — "  Terrible  Bridge 
Accident — Who  is  to  Blame? " 

"Why,  why,  it's  the  bridge  of  the  shallow 
pier!"  he  exclaimed.  " People  will  find  out 
that  I  am  the  one  to  blame !" 

14 


14 Shall  I  run  away?  "  he  wondered,  and  sat  for 
hours  with  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Suddenly  he  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  said 
aloud,  "No,  I  will  not  run  away.  I  will  stay 
and  do  what  I  can  to  make  the  bridge  right  and 
never  neglect  my  duty  again ! ' ' 

Do  you  wonder  that  the  good  fairy  of  careful- 
ness, and  thoroughness,  smiled  and  whispered, 
"I  wish  he  could  have  learned  his  lesson  more 
easily ! ' 


MEMORY  GEM 

If  a  task  is  once  begun 
Never  leave  it  till  it 's  done ; 
Be  the  labor  great  or  small 
Do  it  well,  or  not  at  all. 

—Phoebe  Gary. 

QUESTIONS 

The  careless  little  boy  had  a  very  easy  time  both  at  home 
and  at  school,  didn't  he? 
But,  what  kind  of  man  did  he  grow  to  be? 

15 


it  did  not  seem  as  if  just  one  shallow  pier  would  matter, 
did  it? 

But  if  he  had  been  honest  and  thorough  in  his  work  when 
he  was  little,  do  you  think  he  would  have  been  content  to  be 
paid  for  such  a  carelessly  built  bridge? 

How  do  you  suppose  he  felt  when  he  heard  about  the 
accident? 

Can  you  remember  some  time  when  you  felt  like  being 
careless,  but  decided  to  do  your  very  best? 


THE  THOUGHTFUL  BOY 

" Little  by  little,"  said  a  thoughtful  boy, 

" Moment  by  moment  I'll  well  employ; 

Learning  a  little  every  day, 

Not  spending  all  my  time  in  play ; 

And  still  this  rule  in  my  mind  shall  dwell, 

'Whatever  I  do,  I'll  do  it  weir." 

" Little  by  little,  I'll  learn  to  know 
The  treasured  wisdom  of  long  ago, 
And  one  of  these  days  perhaps  we'll  see 
The  world  made  better  for  having  me." 
And  do  you  not  think  that  this  simple  plan 
Made  him  a  wise  and  a  useful  man? 

— Selected. 
16 


GRANDFATHER'S  STORY 

I. 

Charles  was  fastening  the  lid  on  a  box  of 
Christmas  presents  which  his  little  brothers  were 
going  to  send  to  their  cousins. 

"If  I  were  you,  I'd  put  another  nail  on  each 
side,"  said  grandfather. 

"Oh,  I  think  these  will  hold,"  Charles  replied, 
giving  the  box  a  little  shake.      "There  are  three, 
on  each  side." 

"Four  would  be  better,"  grandfather  said. 

"Oh,  grandpa,  don't  you  think  three  will  do?  " 
asked  the  boy.  "I — I  haven't  any  more." 

17 


"So  that  is  the  trouble,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, laughing.  "Very  well,  here  is  some  money. 
When  you  get  back  from  the  store  I  will  tell  you 
how  the  history  of  a  whole  great  nation  was 
changed  for  want  of  a  few  horseshoe  nails ! " 

"A  few  horseshoe  nails!"  exclaimed  Charles. 
"Is  it  true,  grandpa?" 

"It  is  true,"  answered  grandfather.  "Now 
hurry  up  if  you  want  to  hear  how  it  came 
about." 

"Oh,  thank  you ! "  Charles  cried,  as  he  started 
out  of  the  door. 

He  was  so  delighted  with  the  promise  of  one  of 
grandfather's  stories  that  he  was  back  in  less 
time  than  if  he  had  gone  for  candy ! 

Well     done!"     grandfather     greeted     him. 
Now  sit  down,  and  while  you  get  your  breath, 
I  will  tell  you  the  story. 

n. 

"Many,  many  years  ago,  ^vhen  King  Richard 
was  ruler  of-  England,  he  owned  a  beautiful  horse 
which  he  rode  whenever  he  went  into  battle. 

"One  day  word  came  that  Henry,  the  Earl  of 
Richmond,  was  on  his  way  to  attack  the  king's 
men. 

"King  Richard  ordered  his  favorite  horse 

18 


a 
u 


brought  to  him,  and  turned  to  talk  to  the  of- 
ficers of  his  army. 

"  Now  the  groom  who  had  charge  of  the  king's 
horses  suddenly  noticed  that  this  horse  needed 
shoeing. 

"  So  he  hurried  to  the  nearest  smithy. 

"'Shoe  this  horse  quickly,'  he  said  to  the 
blacksmith.  'His  Majesty  has  called  for  him. 
The  enemy  is  near ! ' 

"The  blacksmith  worked  with  all  his  might, 
and  soon  had  four  horseshoes  ready. 

"When  he  had  nailed  on  two  shoes,  he  found 
he  had  not  nails  enough  for  the  other  two. 
Suddenly  the  bugles  sounded. 

"  'Hurry ! '  cried  the  groom.  'The  soldiers  are 
gathering ! ' 

"'Shall  I  make  more  nails?'  asked  the  black- 
smith. 

'How  many  have  you?'  asked  the  groom. 
I  have  only  eight,'  replied  the  smith.     'It 
would  not  take  very  long  to  hammer  out  eight 
more. ' 

"'You  will  have  to  make  eight  do,'  said  the 
groom. 

"  'If  you  could  only  wait  a  little  while,'  urged 
the  smith,  working  away. 

"'I   suppose   I  might, — but   it   would  be  a 

19 


u 
u  t 


risk!      Won't   four  nails   hold   a  horseshoe?' 
"'Well,  that  depends  on  how  hard  the  horse 

is  ridden/  answered  the  blacksmith,  driving  the 

last  of  the  eight  nails  in  place. 

"The  horse  reached  the  king  in  good  time,  for 

it  took  quite  a  long  while  for  the  officers  to  make 

their  plans. 

III. 

"Soon  King  Richard  was  riding  among  his 
men,  cheering  them  on  in  the  battle. 

"'No  other  horse  could  carry  a  man  as  surely 
and  swiftly/  whispered  the  king,  patting  the 
horse's  neck. 

"He  had  not  noticed  that  the  horse  had  lost 
one  shoe.  Onward  he  urged  him  over  a  rocky 
hill.  Another  shoe  flew  off. 

"Suddenly  the  horse  stumbled  and  fell,  and 
the  king  was  thrown  to  the  ground. 

"Before  he  could  rise,  the  horse,  although 
lamed,  had  struggled  to  his  feet  and  galloped 
away,  dreadfully  frightened. 

"Then  the  king  shouted,  'A  horse !  A  horse ! 
My  kingdom  for  a  horse ! ' 

"But  there  was  no  horse  for  him.  When  his 
men  had  seen  him  thrown,  they  had  all  turned 

and  fled. 

20 


"  And  so  the  battle  was  lost,  and  King  Richard 
was  killed,  and  the  history  of  the  great  nation  of 
England  was  changed,  for  Henry,  Earl  of  Rich- 
mond, became  king." 

"And  all  for  the  want  of  a  few  horseshoe 
nails ! ' '  finished  Charles,  as  grandfather  stopped 
speaking.  "I  will  put  two  more  nails  into  each 
side  of  the  box  lid,  grandpa ! " 

"  While  you  are  doing  that,  I  will  teach  you 
a  few  lines  that  I  learned  when  I  was  a  boy," 
said  grandfather.  "Try  to  remember  them." 

"For  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost  ; 
For  want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost ; 
For  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost ; 
For  want  of  a  rider  the  battle  was  lost ; 
For  loss  of  a  battle  a  kingdom  was  lost  ;— 
And  all  for  the  want  of  a  horseshoe  nail." 


21 


QUESTIONS 

How  might  the  battle  have  ended  if  the  groom  had  waited 
until  the  blacksmith  had  put  the  right  number  cf  nails  in 
the  horse's  shoes? 

Which  do  you  think  King  Richard  would  rather  have 
lost — a  little  time  or  his  kingdom? 

How  do  you  suppose  the  groom  and  the  blacksmith  felt 
when  they  learned  the  result  of  the  battle  ? 

Do  you  know  any  careless  people  ? 

What  do  you  think  of  them? 

Can  you  remember  ever  doing  something  carelessly  in 
order  to  finish  more  quickly? 

Tell  about  it. 


If  you're  told  to  do  a  thing, 
And  mean  to  do  it  really ; 

Never  let  it  be  by  halves ; 
Do  it  fully,  freely! 

—Phcebe  Cary. 


He  liveth  long  who  liveth  well ; 

All  else  in  life  is  thrown  away ; 
He  liveth  longest  who  can  tell 

Of  true  things  truly  done  each  day. 


What  is  worth  doing  at  all  is  worth  doing  well, 


Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard;  consider  her 
ways,  and  be  wise. 


22 


HONEST  ABE 

As  a  boy,  Abraham 
Lincoln  was  known  as 
"Honest  Abe."  Like 
other  boys  he  sometimes 
did  wrong,  but  never  did 
he  try  to  hide  his  wrong- 
doing. He  was  always 
ready  to  own  up  and  tell 
the  truth.  So  his  neigh- 
bors called  him  "  Honest 
Abe." 

In  this  way  he  was  like 
young  George  Washing- 
ton. The  American  peo- 
ple are  fond  of  that  kind 
of  boy.  That  is  one  of 
the  reasons  why  Lincoln 
and  Washington  were 
each  twice  elected  Presi- 
dent of  the  United 
States. 

I.     The  Broken  Buck-horn 

When  he  was  fourteen 
years  old,  young  Abra- 

23 


ham  attended   a  log  cabin  school  during   the 
winter. 

Nailed  to  one  of  the  logs  in  the  schoolhouse 
was  a  large  buck's  head,  high  above  the  chil- 
dren's reach. 

A  hunter  had  shot  a  deer  in  the  forest,  and 
presented  the  head,  when  mounted,  to  the  school. 
It  had  two  unusually  fine  horns. 

One  day  the  teacher  noticed  that  one  of  the 
horns  was  broken  off  short. 

Calling  the  school  to  order  he  asked  who  had 
broken  the  horn. 

I  did  it,"  answered  young  Lincoln  promptly. 
I  reached  up  and  hung  on  the  horn  and  it 
broke.  I  should  not  have  done  so  if  I  had 
thought  it  would  break. ' ' 

He  did  not  wait  until  he  was  obliged  to  own 
up,  but  did  so  at  once. 


u 
it 


Dare  to  be  true ;  nothing  can  need  a  lie. 

A  fault  which  needs  it  most  grows  two  thereby. 

— Herbert. 


II.    The  Rain-soaked  Book 

There  were  no  libraries  on  the  frontier  in  those 
early  days.     When  the  boy  Lincoln  heard  of 


24 


anyone  who  had  a  book,  he  tried  to  borrow  it, 
often  walking  many  miles  to  do  so.  He  said 
later  that  he  had  read  through  every  book  he 
had  heard  of  within  fifty  miles  of  the  place 
where  he  lived. 

When  living  in  Indiana  he  often  worked  as 
a  hired  boy  for  a  well-to-do  farmer  named  Josiah 
Crawford.  Mr.  Crawford  owned  a  "Life  of 
George  Washington/'  a  very  precious  book  at 
that  time.  The  book-hungry  boy  borrowed  it 
to  read. 

One  night  he  lay  by  the  wood  fire  reading  until 
he  could  no  longer  see,  and  then  he  climbed  the 
ladder  into  the  attic  and  went  to  bed  under  the 
eaves.  Before  going  to  sleep  he  placed  the  book 
between  two  logs  of  the  walls  of  the  cabin  for 
safe-keeping. 

During  the  night  a  heavy  rain-storm  came  up. 
When  young  Lincoln  examined  the  book  in  the 
morning  it  was  water  soaked.  The  leaves  were 
wet  through  and  the  binding  warped. 

He  dried  the  book  as  best  he  could  by  the  fire 
and  then  in  fear  and  trembling  took  it  home  to 
Mr.  Crawford.  After  telling  the  story  he  asked 
what  he  might  do  to  make  good  the  damaged 
property. 

To  his  relief,  Mr.  Crawford  replied:  " Being 

25 


as  it's  you,  Abe,  I  won't  be  hard  on  you.  Come 
over  and  shuck  corn  for  three  days  and  the  book 
is  yours." 

Shuck  corn  for  three  days  for  such  a  book  as 
that !  It  was  nothing !  He  felt  as  if  Mr.  Craw- 
ford was  making  him  a  wonderful  present. 

After  reading  the  book  he  often  talked  about 
what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  grew  up. 

Mrs.  Crawford,  who  was  very  fond  of  him, 
would  ask,  "Well,  Abe,  what  do  you  want  to  be 
now?" 

"I'll  be  president,"  he  would  declare. 

She  would  laugh  at  him,  and  say,  "You  would 
make  a  pretty  president  with  all  your  tricks  and 
jokes,  wouldn't  you?' 

"Oh,  I'll  study  and  get  ready,  then  the  chance 
will  come/'  he  would  reply. 


Truth  is  the  highest  thing  a  man  may  keep. 

— Cervantes. 


III.     The  Young  Storekeeper 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one  Abraham  Lincoln 
became  a  store  clerk  for  a  short  time.  He  was 
then  six  feet  four  inches  tall  and  very  strong. 
He  could  out-run,  out-jump,  out-wrestle,  and 

26 


out-fight  any  man  in  the  rough  pioneer  country 
where  he  lived. 

While  the  people  respected  his  great  strength, 
they  liked  him  still  more  for  his  honesty  in  little 
things. 

One  evening,  on  reckoning  up  his  accounts,  he 
found  that  in  making  change  he  had  taken  six 
cents  too  much  from  a  customer.  On  closing 
the  store  he  immediately  walked  three  miles  to 
the  farmhouse  where  the  customer  lived  and  re- 
turned the  six  cents.  Then  he  walked  the  three 
miles  back. 

On  opening  the  store  one  morning,  he  dis- 
covered a  four-ounce  weight  on  the  scales.  He 
remembered  that  his  last  customer  the  evening 
before  had  purchased  half  a  pound  of  tea.  He 
saw  at  once  that  he  had  given  her  short  weight. 
He  measured  out  the  four  ounces  still  due,  locked 
the  store,  took  a  long  walk  to  the  customer's 
house,  and  explained  the  shortage. 

These  were  little  things,  but  Honest  Abe  could 
not  rest  until  he  had  made  them  right. 


This  above  all:  to  thine  own  self  be  true; 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man. 

— Shakespeare. 
27 


DRY  RAIN  AND  THE  HATCHET 
I.     How  Dry  Rain  Got  His  Name 

In  the  Indian  country  there  was  once  a  great 
drought.  The  land  was  very  dry.  No  rain  had 
fallen  for  many  weeks.  The  crops  and  cattle 
were  suffering  from  thirst. 

Now,  in  one  of  the  tribes  there  was  a  young 
Indian  who  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  himself. 
He  pretended  that  he  could  foretell  what  was 
about  to  happen,  long  before  it  really  did 
happen. 

So  he  foretold  that  on  a  certain  day  a 
high  wind  would  blow  up,  bringing  with  it  a 

28 


great  rain-storm  with  plenty  of  water  for  every- 
body. 

The  day  came.  Sure  enough  a  high  wind  did 
blow  up,  but  it  brought  only  a  violent  sand-storm 
without  a  drop  of  rain,  and  it  left  the  land 
drier  than  before. 

So  the  Indians  laughed  at  the  young  man  who 
foretold  before  he  knew  and  called  him  "Dry 
Rain." 

Although  he  afterwards  became  a  noted  chief, 
he  never  lost  his  name. 

II.     Dry  Rain  Goes  Trading 

One  day,  when  he  was  an  old  man,  Dry  Rain 
rode  in  from  his  village  to  the  white  man's  trad- 
ing post. 

The  old  chief  purchased  a  number  of  articles, 
among  them  some  jack-knives  and  six  hatchets. 
The  hatchets  were  for  his  six  grandsons. 

The  trader  packed  all  the  purchases  in  a  big 
bundle.  Dry  Rain  paid  for  them,  mounted  his 
pony,  and  rode  home  to  his  village. 

When  .he  opened  his  package,  he  noticed 
that  the  trader  by  mistake  had  put  in  seven 
hatchets. 

But  Dry  Rain  said  nothing.  "That  extra 
one  will  do  for  me,"  he  thought.  "The  white 

29 


(I 

u 
it 


men  stole  the  Indian's  land  and  never  gave  it 
back ;  I  will  keep  the  hatchet." 

At  the  same  time  he  did  not  feel  that  this  would 
be  doing  just  right. 

In  his  wigwam  that  night  he  lay  half-asleep 
and  half-awake,  thinking  about  the  hatchet. 

He  seemed  to  hear  two  voices  talking,  in  a  tone 
so  earnest  that  it  sounded  almost  quarrelsome. 
Take  back  the   hatchet,"  said   one   voice. 
It  belongs  to  the  white  man." 

No!  do  not  take  it  back,"  said  the  other 
voice.     "It  is  right  for  you  to  keep  it." 

Back  and  forth  the  voices  argued  and  argued, 
for  hours  it  seemed  to  the  old  chief. 

"Take  it  back!"  "Keep  it!"  "Take  it 
back ! "  "Keep  it ! "  "Take  it  back ! " 

At  last  he  could  stand  the  dispute  no  longer, 
and  sat  up  in  bed  wide  awake. 

"Stop  talking,  both  of  you,"  he  commanded. 
"Dry  Rain  will  take  back  the  hatchet  in  the 
morning." 

Then  he  lay  down  again,  pulled  the  blanket 
over  his  head,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

At  daylight  he  arose,  mounted  his  pony,  rode 
back  to  the  trading  post,  and  returned  the  hatchet 
to  the  trader. 

"Why  did  you  bring   it  back?"  asked  the 

30 


trader.     "I  had  not  missed  it,  and  perhaps  never 
should  have  known  you  had  it." 

"But  Dry  Rain  would  know/'  replied  the 
old  chief.  "The  two  men  inside  of  him  talked 
and  quarreled  about  it  all  night.  One  said, 
'Take  it  back!'  the  other  said,  'No,  keep  it.' 
Now  they  will  keep  still  and  let  him  sleep." 

QUESTIONS 

Do  you  think  that  most  white  men  set  the  Indians  a  good 
example  in  being  honest?  ,  ^tM; 

Dry  Rain  wanted  very  much  to  have  the  extra  hatchet, 
didn't  he? 

But  was  he  comfortable  when  he  decided  to  keep  it? 

Do  you  think  the  white  trader  would  ever  have  found 
out? 

But  who  would  have  known? 

Did  two  voices  inside  of  you  ever  talk  when  you  were 
tempted  to  keep  something  which  didn't  belong  to  you? 

MEMORY  GEMS 

Truth  will  ever  rise  above  falsehood,  like  oil 
above  water. 


For  whatever  men  say  in  their  blindness, 
And  spite  of  the  fancies  of  youth, 

There  is  nothing  so  kingly  as  kindness, 
And  nothing  so  royal  as  truth ! 

31 


THE  SEVEN  CRANBERRIES 

Mr.  Dingle  was  not  looking  toward  Helen. 
He  was  busy  grinding  coffee  in  another  part  of 
the  store. 

How  pretty  the  bright  red  cranberries  looked ! 
Helen  wished  she  had  some. 

Her  little  hand  crept  over  the  edge  of  the 
barrel,  and  very  quickly  seven  bright  shining 
cranberries  were  in  Helen's  pocket. 

"What  can  I  get  for  you,  little  girl?"  asked 
the  storekeeper. 

"A  pound  of  butter,  please,7'  Helen  answered. 
She  did  not  look  him  in  the  eye;  instead,  she 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

It  took  Helen  but  a  short  time  to  reach  home. 

32 


She  laid  the  butter  on  the  table  and  put  the 
seven  cranberries  in  a  cup. 

" Aren't  they  pretty!"  she  whispered.  "I 
think  I'll  play  they  are  marbles." 

She  found  a  piece  of  chalk  and  drew  a  circle 
on  the  floor.  Then  she  began  the  game. 

"What  pretty  bright  cranberries!"  exclaimed 
her  mother  coming  into  the  room.  "  Where 
did  you  get  them,  dear?  " 

How  Helen  wished  that  her  mother  had  not 
asked  that  question. 

"Did  Mr.  Dingle  give  them  to  you?"  her 
mother  asked. 

How  Helen  wished  she  could  say  yes  !  "But 
after  all/'  she  thought,  "that  was  not  stealing, 
so  I'll  just  tell  mother.  She  knows  I  would  not 
steal." 

"No,  mother,"  she  answered,  shaking  her 
head.  "I  took  them  out  of  the  barrel." 

"You  did!"  exclaimed  her  mother.  "Why, 
my  dear,  did  you  not  know  that  was  wrong?" 

"I  didn't  take  many — only  seven,"  Helen 
said;  "and  Mr.  Dingle  had  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  them!" 

"Come  here,  dear,  and  sit  on  my  knee,"  said 
her  mother.  "I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

When  Helen  came  she  asked,  "When  you  took 

33 


the  cranberries,  was  Mr.  Dingle  looking  toward 


you?" 


"No,  he  was  busy,"  answered  Helen. 

"Would  you  have  taken  them  if  he  had  been 
looking  at  you?" 

Helen  hung  her  head. 

"I  do  not  think  you*  would,  dear/'  said  her 
mother.  "Of  course,  you  did  not  think  for 
a  moment  of  stealing  from  Mr.  Dingle." 

"I  \^ill  never  do  such  a  thing  again,  mother," 
promised  the  little  girl.  "I  am  sorry." 

"Are  you  sorry  enough  to  take  those  berries 
back,  and  tell  Mr.  Dingle  what  you  did  ? ' '  asked 
her  mother. 

That  was  quite  different  from  being  sorry  iii 
their  own  kitchen. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  don't  want  to  do  that!"  said 
Helen,  tears  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"That  is  because  you  are  ashamed,  Helen," 
said  her  mother;  "but  I  hope  you  will  always  be 
brave  enough  to  do  the  right  thing." 

"Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  store,  mother?" 
asked  Helen. 

"No,"  said  her  mother,  "I  want  you  to  go 
by  yourself.  But  I  can  help  you  this  much:  I 
can  telephone  Mr.  Dingle  that  you  are  coming." 

Helen  sighed.     "I  wish  I  had  been,  and  was 

34 


back  again/'  she  said,  picking  up   the   pretty 
berries. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Mr.  Dingle,  when  Helen 
handed  him  the  berries,  "it  takes  a  pretty  brave 
girl  to  own  up.  If  you  were  a  boy,  little  girl, 
I  would  ask  you  to  come  and  work  for  me  this 
next  vacation. ' 


QUESTIONS 

Why  do  you  think  Helen  felt  so  uncomfortable  when  she 
was  asking  for  the  butter,  and  later  when  her  mother  asked 
her  where  she  got  the  cranberries? 

Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Dingle  would  ever  have  known  about 
the  seven  cranberries? 

But  who  would  always  have  known? 

Why  was  it  that  Helen  did  not  think  taking  the  cran- 
berries was  really  " stealing"? 

What  did  Helen's  mother  think  about  it? 

What  do  you  think  about  taking  even  the  smallest  thing 
that  doesn't  belong  to  you? 


We  sow  a  thought  and  reap  an  act ; 
We  sow  an  act  and  reap  a  habit ; 
We  sow  a  habit  and  reap  a  character ; 
We  sow  a  character  and  reap  a  destiny. 

— Thackeray. 
35 


THE  DONKEY'S  TAIL 

"Can  you  see?"  asked  Hilda  Wells,  as  she 
tied  the  handkerchief  over  Fred  Warren's  eyes. 

"  You  might  make  it  a  little  tighter/'  answered 
Fred. 

So  Hilda  tightened  the  blindfolder. 

"Now,  we'll  turn  you  around  three  times, 
start  you  straight, — and  you  pin  the  tail  on  the 
donkey,"  she  said. 

The  "donkey"  was  a  large  picture  of  that 
animal  fastened  to  the  wall  at  the  opposite  side 

36 


of  the  room.  It  was  minus  its  paper  tail,  which 
Fred  held  in  his  hand. 

" Don't  you  peep!"  cried  all  the  children. 

"  We'll  see  if  he  can  do  better  than  I  did !"  de- 
clared Frank  Bennett.  So  far  the  prize  belonged 
to  Frank.  .Fred 's  turn  came  last. 

After  being  turned  around  three  times,  Fred 
walked  straight  up  to  the  picture  and  pinned  the 
tail  exactly  in  place. 

"Oh,  Frank,  that  is  better  than  you  did  by 
two  inches ! "  said  Hilda. 

"Fred  gets  the  prize!"  cried  the  excited  chil- 
dren, as  Fred  pulled  off  the  handkerchief. 

Then  little  Marie,  Hilda's  sister,  handed  him 
a  pearl-handled  penknife. 

Fred  made  little  of  his  prize,  and  as  soon  as 
the  children  stopped  examining  it,  slipped  it 
into  his  pocket. 

After  that,  Mrs.  Wells  served  ice-cream  and 
cakes. 

On  the  way  home  Frank  asked  Fred  to  let  him 
see  the  prize.  "It  is  a  beauty  of  a  knife,  Fred," 
said  he.  "Until  you  tried,  I  thought  I  should 
be  the  winner." 

Fred  muttered  something  about  having  too 
many  knives  already. 

Frank  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  surprise.      "Too 

37 


many ! "  he  exclaimed.  "I  wish  I  had  too  many ! 
I've  never  had  more  than  one,  and  that  was  fath- 
er's when  he  was  a  boy." 

"Good  night,  Frank,"  said  Fred,  suddenly 
swinging  into  a  side  street.  "I  am  going  to  take 
a  short  cut  home/" 

"Good  night,  Fred,"  called  Frank. 

"That's  a  queer  way  for  a  fellow  to  act,"  he 
thought,  as  he  walked  on  alone.  i '  I  wonder  what 
is  the  matter  with  him." 

Suddenly  he  heard  footsteps,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment Fred  had  caught  up  with  him.  "Here, 
take  it,  I  don't  want  another  knife,"  he  said, 
thrusting  the  prize  into  Frank's  hand. 

"Oh — oh,  I  don't  want  your  knife ! "  exclaimed 
Frank. 

"Well,  I  don't  want  it,  either!"  said  Fred. 
"It  belongs  to  you,  anyway;  and  I  believe 
you  know  it!  I  am  almost  certain  you  could 
see  me  peeping  from  under  that  handker- 
chief!" 

"I  was  not  quite  sure,"  said  Frank;  "not 
sure  enough  to  say  anything  about  it,  any- 
way." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  keep  the  knife  I'll  throw  it 
into  the  river/'  said  Fred,  running  away  as  fast 
as  he  could. 

38 


HURTING  A  GOOD  FRIEND 

This  is  the  story  of  a  boy  who  ruined  a  good 
book.  A  good  book  is  always  a  good  friend. 

He  did  not  mean  to — oh,  no!  But  what  of 
that — he  did  it,  as  you  may  read. 

His  name  was  Max  Green.  One  day  Max  bor- 
rowed a  book  from  Tom  Brown,  a  fine  new  book 
with  a  picture  of  a  submarine  on  the  cover.  Tom 
had  just  received  it  as  a  birthday  present  from 
his  uncle. 

That  night  Max  sat  down  in  a  corner  to  read  it 

39 


Soon  he  came  -to  the  place  where  the  submarine 
was  getting  ready  to  fire  a  torpedo. 

" Squeak!"  went  the  book,  as  Max  gave  it 
a  twist  in  his  excitement.  He  did  not  hear  the 
sound;  he  only  saw  the  torpedo  skimming 
through  the  water. 

" Crack!"  went  the  book,  as  Max  gave  it  a 
heavier  twist.  He  did  not  notice  that  he  was 
bending  the  covers  farther  back.  He  only  knew 
that  the  torpedo  was  striking  the  bow  of  a  big 
man-of-war. 

"Rip!"  went  the  book  down  the  middle,  as 
Max  gave  it  a  harder  twist  with  his  hand. 

But  Max  read  right  on,  for  just  then  the  man- 
of-war  lurched  over  on  its  side  as  if  it  was  getting 
ready  to  sink. 

In  his  excitement  Max  forgot  all  about  what 
he  was  doing  and  twisted  and  bent  the  book  back, 
cover  to  cover. 

' '  Stop — quick — oh !  oh !  It  hurts !  You  have 
broken  my  back — broken  my  back !  Oh ! — oh ! ' ' 
cried  the  book. 

Suddenly  Max  woke  up  and  saw  what  he  had 
done — but  it  was  too  late.  He  had  broken  the 
glue  and  stitches  apart  and  the  covers  hung  limp. 

Just  then  his  mother  came  in. 

"Look,  mother — see  what  I  have  done  to  Tom 

40 


Brown's  book/'  he  confessed.  "I  am  so  sorry. 
It  is  such  a  good  book.  Can't  we  glue  it  together 
again?" 

"No,"  said  his  mother,  "it  is  ruined.  Glue 
may  help,  but  it  will  never  be  the  same  book." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry ! "  said  Max. 

"Yes,  Max,  but  being  sorry  will  not  make  this 
book  as  good  as  it  was  when  you  borrowed  it/' 

"I  will  make  it  right  with  Tom,  mother.  I 
will  take  my  birthday  money  to  buy  him  a  new 
one." 

"That  is  the  right  thing  to  do,  Max," 
answered  his  mother. 

QUESTIONS 

How  is  a  good  book  a  good  friend  ? 

Suppose  it  had  been  his  own  book  that  Max  ruined, 
would  he  have  been  treating  it  fairly? 

If  you  were  a  book,  how  would  you  want  to  be  treated  ? 

Do  you  know  what  holds  a  book  together?  Tell  what 
you  know  about  the  way  a  book  is  made. 

Why  should  we  be  so  careful  of  books? 

MEMORY  GEM 

For  every  evil  under  the  sun, 
There  is  a  remedy,  or  there  is  none. 
If  there  be  one,  try  to  find  it ; 
If  there  be  none,  never  mind  it. 

41 


A  SCHOOL  WITHOUT  A  TEACHER 

What  Might  Happen  if  Books  and  Bells  Could  Talk 

The  little  schoolhouse  was  painted  white,  with 
green  shutters.  Over  the  front  gable  was  a  little 
old-fashioned  belfry.  In  it  swung  a  little  old- 
fashioned  school  bell,  for  this  was  a  country 
district  school,  with  scarcely  a  house  in  sight. 

One  bright  September  morning,  the  opening 
day  of  school,  forty  or  fifty  noisy  children  were 
drawn  up  in  line,  waiting  for  the  bell  to  stop 
ringing. 

When  the  bell  stopped,  the  children  marched 

42 


inside  and  took  their  seats  facing  the  teacher's 
desk. 

"Order!"  tapped  the  desk  bell,  and  the  room 
was  suddenly  still. 

The  pupils  looked  to  see  who  had  tapped  the 
bell,  for  the  teacher  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

They  saw  the  new  school-books  piled  on  the 
platform  and  on  the  teacher's  desk — but  where 
was  the  teacher? 

"I  am  the  new  Spelling  Book,  full  of  hard 
words/'  said  the  top  book  of  the  pile  of  spellers 
on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  platform. 

"I  am  the  new  Reader,  full  of  good  stories/' 
announced  the  top  one  of  a  stack  of  readers  on 
the  left-hand  side  of  the  platform. 

The  pupils  were  startled.  It  was  so  quiet  you 
could  hear  the  clock  tick. 

"I  am  the  new  Arithmetic,  full  of  problems 
harder  to  crack  than  the  hickory  nuts  in  the 
woods/'  spoke  up  a  book  on  the  teacher's  desk; 
"but  why  don't  you  find  your  teacher? ' 

No  one  answered.  The  children  only  sat  half- 
frightened,  wondering  what  would  happen  next. 

"I  am  the  new  Language  Book,"  declared 
another  book  in  the  row  on  the  teacher's  desk; 
"but  who  will  teach  you  your  mother  tongue?" 

Everyone  was  still.     Only  the  clock  ticked  on. 

43 


"I  am  the  Geography;  in  my  pages  are  maps 
of  all  countries.  Who  will  give  you  permission 
to  look?"  It  was  the  largest  book  of  all  that 
asked  this  question. 

The  pupils  stared  opened-eyed  over  the  desk 
at  the  teacher's  empty  chair.     They  saw  nothing 
but  a  sunbeam  coming  in  through  the  window - 
full  of  particles  of  shining  dust. 

" There  must  be  somebody  hiding,"  spoke  up 
one  boy  who  could  stand  the  strain  no  longer. 

"I  am  going  to  see,"  said  another  boy  braver 
than  the  rest. 

Getting  up,  he  looked  behind  the  desk  and  in 
the  closet,  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen,  not  even 
a  mouse. 

"Let  us  go  out  and  look  for  the  teacher/'  he 
cried.  With  one  accord  they  ran  pell-mell  out 
the  door  into  the  playground. 

An  automobile  was  coming  up  the  road  at  top 
speed. 

"Good  morning,  boys  and  girls/'  the  new 
teacher  called,  as  the  machine  pulled  up. 

"Good  morning,  teacher,"  they  answered 
crowding  about  her. 

"I  am  sorry  to  be  late  the  first  day  of  school. 
There  was  some  trouble  at  Rockland  and  the 
train  was  delayed.  Mr.  Jones  drove  me  over." 

44 


'We  are  glad  you  are  here,"  said  an  older 
girl  as  the  machine  drove  off.  "  We  went  in  and 
took  our  seats  at  nine  o'clock,  thinking  you 
would  come  at  any  minute.  All  at  once  some- 
thing began  to  talk.  '  I  am  the  Speller  full  of  hard 
words ;  I  am  the  Arithmetic ;  I  am  the  Reader ; 
I  am  the  Geography;  where  is  your  teacher?7 
the  voices  said.  At  first  we  thought  somebody 
was  hiding,  but  we  could  not  find  anyone.  Then 
we  got  frightened  and  ran  out." 

"Well,  isn't  that  strange?"  said  the  teacher 
laughing.  "We  will  go  in  and  see." 

Together  they  trooped  into  the  schoolroom. 
They  looked  everywhere;  nothing  had  been 
moved;  everything  was  just  as  usual. 

The  teacher  tapped  the  bell  and  everyone  took 
a  seat. 

"Well,  children,"  she  said  smiling,  "we  have 
already  learned  a  very  important  lesson  this 
morning,  and  that  is  that  every  school  must  have 
a  teacher!" 

QUESTIONS 

1  Teachers 
T>          1 
Books 
Schoolhouse 

What  other  persons  or  things  should  a  school  have? 

45 


Can  you  have  a  school  without  a  teacher? 

Why  is  the  teacher  so  important? 

Obedient 

Clean 

Orderly 


What  should  the  pupils  be? 


Courteous 


Helpful 
Punctual 

.  Anxious  to  learn. 
C  Respectful  to    all    connected    with 
What  else  should  J      school. 

the  pupils  be?  ]  Respectful  to  principal,  to  teacher, 

I     to  janitor,  to  other  children. 

MEMORY  GEMS 

One  rule  to  guide  us  in  our  life 

Is  always  good  and  true ; 
'Tis,  do  to  others  as  you  would 

That  they  should  do  to  you. 


If  wisdom's  ways  you'd  wisely  seek, 
Five  things  observe  with  care ; 

Of  whom  you  speak,  to  whom  to  speak, 
And  how,  and  when,  and  where. 


Prize  your  friend  for  her  own  true  heart, 
Though  her  dress  be  poor  and  mean ; 

The  years,  like  a  fairy  wand,  may  change 
Cinderella  to  a  queen. 

46 


OUR  FLAG 

'Tis  the  Star-Spangled 
Banner,  oh,  long 
may  it  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the 
free,  and  the  home 
of  the  brave. 

As   you   came   to 

school  this  morning,  did  you  look  up 
at  your  flag  floating  from  the  top  of 
the  flag  pole?  Didn't  it  look  beautiful, 
waving  and  rippling  in  the  sunshine 
against  the  blue  sky?  I  won- 
der if  you  have  ever  thought 
about  what  it  means  ? 

You  know  flags  are  signs  or  em- 
blems, and  they  all  have  a  meaning. 
There  is  no  reading  on  our  Ameri- 
can flag,  yet  everyone  knows  what  it 
means  as  certainly  as  if  there  were 
letters  all  over  it. 

Our  flag  means  that  the   United 

States  of  America  is  the  Land  of  the 

Free,  and  our  government  stands  for: 

Liberty  and  justice  for  everybody; 

Education  for  all  children ; 

47 


Protection  to  all  Americans  at  home  or 
abroad. 

That  is  the  reason  so  many  people  come  to 
this  country  from  countries  where  they  do  not 
have  such  help  from  the  government. 

We  Americans  are  very  thankful  for  what 
our  flag  means. 

If  we  are  good  Americans  we  shall  live  up  to 
every  one  of  the  following  duties : 

To  be  true  and  faithful  citizens ; 

To  do  our  part  to  carry  out  the  laws  of  the 
government ; 

To  give,  if  necessary,  our  lives  to  protect  our  flag. 

SCOUTS'  PLEDGE 

I  pledge  allegiance  to  my  flag  and  to  the 
republic  for  which  it  stands;  one  nation  indi- 
visible, with  liberty  and  justice  for  all. 


48 


MY  GIFT 

I  give  my  head,  my  heart,  my  hand  to  God 
and  my  country;  one  country,  one  language, 
one  flag.* 

FLAG  DAY 

June  14  is  the  anniversary  of  the  adoption 
of  the  flag,  and  that  date  is  celebrated  in  many 
states  as  Flag  Day. 
We  can  honor  our  flag 
By  living  for  it ; 

By  keeping  our  own  honor  bright ; 
By  being  brave ;     (Red  stands  for  valor.) 
By  being  clean ;     (White  stands  for  purity.) 
By  being  just ;     (Blue  stands  for  justice.) 
By  being  loyal ; 
By  being  ready  to  die  for  it,  if  we  are  called 

upon. 

Our  state  has  one  star  in  the  blue  of  the  flag. 
How  shall  we  honor  our  star? 
How  shall  we  show  respect  for  our  country 
and  our  flag? 

Since  our  flag  means  so  much  to  us,  we 
should  respect  it  and  love  it  with  all 
our  hearts. 

*  At  the  word  flag  give  the  salute  by  raising  the  right  hand  to 
the  forehead. 
4  49 


When  the  flag  passes  in  a  parade,  people 
should,  if  walking,  halt;  or  if  sitting, 
rise  and  stand  at  attention  and  un- 
cover. 

The  flag  should  never  be  allowed  to  drag 
on  the  ground  nor  be  left  out  after  dark. 
Did  you  know  that  it  must  never  be 
used  as  an  old  rag?  You  see  no  matter 
how  old  or  torn  a  flag  becomes,  it  is 


RIGHT. 


a 


WRONG. 


50 


still  our  flag  and  must  be  loved  and 
honored  always. 


My  country !  'tis  of  thee, 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 

Of  thee  I  sing ; 

Land  where  my  fathers  died ! 
Land  of  the  Pilgrim's  pride ! 
From  every  mountain  side 

Let  freedom  ring ! 


"America  is  another  name  for  Opportunity 
What  do  you  understand  by  that? 


WHAT  DOES  THIS  PICTURE  OF  AN  OPEN  GATEWAY  BRING  TO  YOUR  MIND? 

51 


HOW  OUR  FLAG  DEVELOPED 

The  thirteen  stripes  in  our  flag  represent  the 
thirteen  original  colonies. 

Every  star  in  the  field  of  blue  represents  a 
state — "A  star  for  every  state,  and  a  state  for 
every  star." 

The  flag  brings  a  picture  to  our  minds  of 
all  the  things  we  are  grateful  for  in  our  history, 
and  of  all  the  things  we  want  our  country  and 
ourselves  to  be. 

52 


QUESTIONS 

What  does  our  flag  mean? 

Are  you  not  glad  that  you  live  in  a  country  where  all 
the  people  rule,  instead  of  any  one  person  or  just  a  few 
people? 

Can  you  repeat  the  Scouts7  Pledge?     (Standing.) 

Who  was  Betsy  Ross? 

Can  you  form  a  tableau  like  the  picture  of  Betsy  Ross 
sewing  the  American  Flag? 

Isn't  it  almost  as  brave  to  live  up  to  the  red,  white,  and 
blue  as  to  die  for  our  colors? 

Why  is  our  nation's  flag  always  hung  higher  in  this 
country  than  the  flag  of  any  other  nation? 

Will  you  bring  pictures  of  the  flags  of  some  other  coun- 
tries to  class? 

Do  you  think  any  other  flag  more  beautiful  than  ours? 

Will  you  try  to  do  all  you  can  to  honor  our  flag,  and  never 
to  let  the  star  of  your  state  grow  dimmer  because  of  any 
act  of  yours? 


Hats  off! 

Along  the  street  there  comes 
A  blare  of  bugles,  a  ruffle  of  drums, 
A  flash  of  color  beneath  the  sky : 

Hats  off! 
The  flag  is  passing  by ! 

—-H.  H.  Bennett. 
53 


THE  FLAG   OF  THE 
U.  S.  A. 

I  belong  to  this  flag ; 
This  flag  belongs  to  me, 
Because  brave  men  have 

lived  and  died 
To  set  its  people  free; 
There  are  other  flags  in 

other  lands, 

And  more  upon  the  sea, 
But  the  flag  to-day  of 

the  U.  S.  A. 
Is   the    flag   for    you 
and  me. 


If  I  belong  to  this  flag, 
And  this  flag  belongs  to  me, 
I'll  live  or  die,  if  there  is  need, 
To  keep  its  people  free ; 
No  other  flag  has  braver  men, 
Either  on  land  or  sea, 

Than  the  flag  to-day  of  the  U.  S.  A.— 

The  flag  for  you  and  me. 

— j.  E.  F. 

54 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG 

When  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there : 
She  mingled  with  her  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light; 
Then,  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun, 
She  called  her  eagle-bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land! 


Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home! 

By  angel  hands  to  valor  given! 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
Forever  float  that  standard  sheet! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us! 

— Joseph  Rodman  Drake. 
55 


STORIES 

TEACHING 

KINDNESS 

TO 

ANIMALS 


THE  TRUE  STORY  OF  CHEESEY 

I.     The  Dog  and  the  Policeman 

One  snowy  day  shortly  after  Christmas,  when 
carefully  picking  my  way  over  the  crossing  at 
Market  Street  Ferry  in  Philadelphia,  I  almost 
ran  into  a  big  policeman. 

Just  back  of  the  big  policeman  was  a  little 
dog,  and  just  back  of  the  little  dog  was  a  little 
dog-house,  and  just  back  of  the  dog-house  was 
a  beautiful  Christmas  tree. 

56 


Wouldn't  it  have  made  you  stop  in  surprise  to 
see  a  dog-house  in  the  middle  of  the  busiest  street 
in  your  city  or  town?  Wouldn't  you  have  won- 
dered why  the  big  policeman  had  the  little  dog, 
and  why  the  little  dog  had  such  a  nice  house 
there?  And  wouldn't  you  have  wondered  and 
wondered  whether  the  Christmas  tree  belonged  to 
the  dog  or  to  the  big  policeman?  It  made  me  so 
curious  that  I  did  just  as  you  would  have  liked  to 
do — I  asked  the  policeman  to  tell  me  the  story. 

H.     The  Policeman's  Story 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Burke/'  I  said,  for 
I  knew  the  officer's  name.  "Will  you  tell  me 
about  the  little  dog?" 

Why,"  answered  the  policeman  with  a  smile, 
don't  you  know  about  Cheesey?     Come  here, 
Cheesey,  the  lady  wants  to  see  you!" 

Cheesey  looked  up  at  the  speaker  and  wagged 
his  tail. 

"Cheesey  was  born  on  Race  Street  pier," 
went  on  the  policeman.  "Nobody  knows  how 
he  got  his  living  after  his  mother  died ;  but  one 
thing  is  sure,  he  was  not  treated  very  kindly  by 
the  men  who  loaded  the  boats  and  swept  the 
wharves.  To  this  day  Cheesey  growls  at  the 
sight  of  one  of  those  men. 

57 


u 
u 


u 


After  a  while  Cheesey  found  a  little  play- 
mate, but  the  playmate  was  run  over  by  a  fire 
engine.  All  night  long  Cheesey  lay  in  the  spot 
where  his  little  mate  had  been  killed. 

"  Weary  and  lonely  and  hungry,  he  crept  back 
to  -the  old  cheerless  corner  of  Race  Street  pier, 
which  was  the  only  place  he  knew  as  home. 

"  There  he  lay  with  his  head  on  his  paws,  not 
noticing  anything  until  one  of  the  men  kicked 
him  out  of  the  way. 

"  Cheesey  ran  out  of  the  pier  and  down  Dela- 
ware Avenue,  not  knowing  where  he  was  going; 
but  he  went  just  the  right  way,  for  he  ran  into 
Officer  Weigner,  one  of  the  four  of  us  who  watch 
this  crossing. 

"He  spoke  kindly  to  the  little  fellow,  and  gave 
him  something  to  eat. 

"From  that  time,  Cheesey  seemed  to  think 
he  belonged  to  the  policemen  on  this  crossing. 
Then  we  gave  him  his  name." 

III.     Cheesey's  Christmas  Presents 

" Cheesey  had  no  place  to  sleep,"  went  on 
the  policeman  after  seeing  some  people  safely 
across  the  street,  "except  on  a  pile  of  bags  in  the 
ferry  house.  He  seemed  so  cold  that  I  asked 
Charley,  one  of  the  workmen  in  the  ferry,  if  he 

58 


could  not  knock  together  some  packing  boxes 
for  the  little  fellow. 

"  Charley  did  the  best  he  could,  but  I  must  say 
he  made  a  sorry  looking  dog-house. 

"One  day,  just  before  Christmas  while  I  was 
on  duty,  Mr.  Sheip,  of  the  Sheip  Box  Factory, 
happened  to  notice  the  box  Charley  had  knocked 
together. 

"'Well,  well/  he  said,  'is  that  the  best  you 
fellows  can  do?' 

"'Why,  Mr.  Sheip/  I  replied,  'we  are  not 
box-makers,  you  know. ' 

"'That's  so!'  he  said.  Til  have  a  dog- 
house made  in  the  factory!'  and  on  Christmas 
day  this  beauty  of  a  dog-house  came.  Have  you 
noticed  the  label  on  it?  " 

I  read  the  painted  black  letters  on  the  large 
white  label: 


Merry  Christmas 

to 
Cheesey 

from 

Officers  Burke,  Dougherty, 
Kunzig,  and  Weigner. 

59 


''It  pleased  us  so/'  went  on  the  officer,  "that 
we  bought  a  Christmas  tree  and  many  people 
helped  us  trim  it. 

"A  good  many  people  brought  presents  for 
Cheesey.  One  lady  from  Camden  brought  a 
feather  pillow;  another  lady  brought  a  piece 
of  meat.  That  dog  could  have  seventeen  meals 
a  day  if  he  could  hold  them — couldn't  you, 

Cheesey?" 

The  little  dog  wagged  his  tail,  turned  around 
twice,  then  went  into  his  house.  After  thanking 
the  officer  I  went  on  my  way,  made  happier  for 
all  my  life  because  of  the  true  story  of  Cheesey. 

THE  CHAINED  DOG 

'Twas  only  a  dog  in  a  kennel, 

And  little  the  noise  he  made, 
But  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  heard  it, 

I  knew  what  that  old  dog  said: 
" Another  long  day  to  get  over! 

Will  nobody  loosen  my  chain, 
Just  for  a  run  in  the  meadow, 

Then  fasten  me  up  again?7' 

—Selected. 

Through  life  it's  been  a  comfort  to  me— 
My  little  dog's  loving  sympathy. 

60 


QUESTIONS 

Do  you  think  the  officers  were  repaid  by  knowing  they 
had  made  Cheesey  happy? 

Does  Cheesey  remind  you  a  little  of  Cinderella?  Who 
were  the  fairies  in  Cheesey '&  life? 

What  might  have  happened  to  Cheesey  if  the  officers 
had  not  been  kind? 

Did  you  ever  own  a  dog? 

Can  you  tell  some  story  showing  your  dog's  intelligence  cr 
bravery? 

What  is  the  kindest  thing  to  do  for  an  animal  which  is 
suffering  if  you  cannot  take  care  of  it  or  feed  it? 

Do  you  know  the  address  of  the  S.  P.  C.  A.  in  your  city? 

Did  you  know  that  sometimes  dogs  are  thought  to  be 
mad  when  they  are  only  very  thirsty? 

Sometimes  dogs  have  been  treated  unfairly  and  are  cross ; 
so  it  is  best  not  to  pat  a  strange  dog's  head. 

Do  you  realize  that  a  dog  is  the  only  animal  which  makes 
people  its  companions  and  playmates? 

How  should  we  treat  dogs? 


MEMORY  GEM 

If  I  can  stop  one  heart  from  breaking, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain; 
If  I  can  ease  one  life  the  aching,  or  cool  one  pain, 
Or  help  one  fainting  robin  to  its  nest  again, 

I  shall  not  live  in  vain. 

61 


LITTLE  LOST  PUP 

He  was  lost! — not  a  shade  of  doubt  of  that; 
For  he  never  barked  at  a  slinking  cat, 
But  stood  in  the  square  where  the  wind  blew  raw, 
With  drooping  ear  and  a  trembling  paw, 
And  a  mournful  look  in  his  pleading  eye, 
And  a  plaintive  sniff  at  the  passerby, 
That  begged  as  plain  as  tongue  could  sue, 
"Oh,  mister,  please  may  I  follow  you?' 
A  lorn  wee  waif  of  tawny  brown 
Adrift  in  the  roar  of  a  heedless  town. 
Oh,  the  saddest  of  sights  in  a  world  of  sin 
Is  a  little  lost  pup  with  his  tail  tucked  in. 

Well,  he  won  my  heart  (for  I  set  great  store 
On  my  own  red  Brute — who  is  here  no  more), 
So  I  whistled  clear,  and  he  trotted  up, 
And  who  so  glad  as  that  small  pup? 

62 


Now  he  shares  my  board,  and  he  owns  my  bed, 
And  he  fairly  shouts  wiien  he  hears  my  tread. 
Then,  if  things  go  wrong,  as  they  sometimes  do, 
And  the  world  is  cold  and  I'm  feeling  blue, 
He  asserts  his  rights  to  assuage  my  woes 
With  a  warm  red  tongue  and  a  nice  cold  nose, 
And  a  silky  head  on  my  arm  or  knee, 
And  a  paw  as  soft  as  a  paw  can  be. 
When  we  rove  the  woods  for  a  league  about, 
He's  as  full  of  pranks  as  a  school  let  out; 
For  he  romps  and  frisks  like  a  three-months' 

colt 

And  he  runs  me  down  like  a  thunder  bolt. 
Oh,  the  blithest  of  sights  in  the  world  so  fair 
Is  a  gay  little  pup  with  his  tail  in  the  air! 

— Arthur  Guiterman. 


PICTURE  OF  RED  CROSS  ARMY  DOGS — WONDERFUL  DOGS   OF  MERCY.    SUCH 

DOGS  HAVE  RESCUED  THOUSANDS  OF  WOUNDED  AND  HELPLESS  SOLDIERS. 

HOW  SHOULD  INTELLIGENT  ANIMALS  LIKE  THESE  BE  TREATED? 

64 


CAN  YOU   TELL   A   STORY   ABOUT  THIS   BRAVE   DOG? 


WHAT  WOULD  THE  BIG  DOG  SAY  IF  HE  COULD  TALK? 
WRITE  A  STORY  ABOUT  Tris  PICTURE. 


THE  HUNTING  PARTY 

Mrs.  Pussy,  sleek  and  fat, 

With  her  kittens  four, 
Went  to  sleep  upon  a  mat 

By  the  kitchen  door. 

Mrs.  Pussy  heard  a  noise ; 

Up  she  sprang  in  glee. 
" Kittens,  maybe  it's  a  mouse — 
Let  us  go  and  see." 

Creeping,  creeping,  soft  and  low, 

Silently  they  stole, 
But  the  little  mouse  had  crept 

Back  into  its  hole. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Pussy  then, 
"  Homeward  let  us  go; 
We  shall  find  our  supper  there, 
That  I  surely  know." 

Home  went  hungry  Mrs.  Puss 

With  her  kittens  four, 
Found  their  supper  on  a  plate 
.  By  the  kitchen  door. 

— Selected. 
66 


QUESTIONS 

What  do  you  think  of  people  who  do  not  care  for  and 
feed  the  cats  they  own? 

Do  you  know  that  a  cat  that  is  well  cared  for,  and  kept 
in  the  house  at  night  is  not  likely  to  catch  birds,  because 
cats  catch  birds  in  the  early  morning  and  at  twilight  ? 

What  do  you  think  of  people  who  move  away  from  a 
place  and  leave  their  cats  behind?  What  will  become  of 
the  cats? 

What  should  people  do  with  cats  they  do  not  care  to  take 
away?  Do  you  know  where  the  nearest  S.  P.  C.  A.  office  is? 

What  good  service  does  the  cat  do  for  people? 

Why  are  rats  and  mice  dangerous  to  our  health? 

How  many  toes  has  a  cat  on  front  paws?    On  back  paws? 

Which  way  does  the  fur  lie  on  the  under  side  of  the  legs? 

THE  LOST  KITTY 

Stealing  to  an  open  door,  craving  food  and  meat, 
Frightened  off  with  angry  cries  and  broomed 

into  the  street ; 
Tortured,  teased,  and  chased  by  dogs,  through 

the  lonely  night, 
Homeless  little  beggar  cat,  sorry  is  your  plight. 

—Ella  Wheeler  Wikox. 

QUESTIONS 

If  you  cannot  care  for  or  feed  a  stray  cat,  what  is  the 
kindest  thing  to  do? 

How  does  it  save  the  birds  to  see  that  stray  cats  either 
are  given  a  home  or  are  taken  to  a  cat  refuge? 

67 


MY  PECULIAR 
KITTY 


I  have  a  little  kitty, 

Just  as  cute  as  she  can  be ; 
But  my!  she  is  peculiar! 

For  she  eats  her  catnip  tea ! 

After  every  meal  she  eats 

She  tidies  up  her  head, 
And  washes  carefully  enough; — 

But  she  never  makes  her  bed! 

I'm  told  a  kitty  cannot  talk, 

But  my  kitty  every  day 
Tells  me  that  she  loves  me 

When  we  are  at  our  play! 

Yes,  she  tells  me  very  plainly 

And  I  will  tell  you  how, — 
I  ask,  "Who  thinks  a  lot  of  me?" 

She  answers,  ' '  Me !     Me — ow ! ' ' 

—j.  E.  F. 

63 


POOR  LITTLE  JOCKO 

I. 

On  the  porch  of  a  comfortable  old  house, 
shaded  by  fine  trees,  a  group  of  young  girls  were 
gathered  around  a  small  table,  sewing. 

Suddenly  the  harsh  notes  of  a  hand-organ 
came  to  their  ears,  disturbing  the  peaceful  still- 
ness of  the  summer  afternoon. 

Marion  Johnson,  who  was  visiting  her  cousins, 
laid  aside  her  work  and  listened. 

"Why,  I  do  believe  it  is  the  very  same  man 
that  came  to  our  town  a  week  ago,"  she 
exclaimed.  "He  had  with  him  a  poor,  miser- 
able looking  monkey,  which  he  called  Jocko. " 

Just  then  they  saw  the  organ-grinder,  with 
the  monkey  perched  on  the  organ,  coming 
up  the  village  street.  Seeing  the  girls  on  the 
porch,  he  turned  up  the  walk. 

"I  think  I  shall  call  Aunt  Kate,"  remarked 
Marion,  rising  and  going  into  the  house. 

Aunt  Kate  could  always  be  depended  upon  to 
help  any  dumb  creature  needing  a  friend. 

Aunt  Kate's  face  lost  its  usual  look  of  quiet 
good  humor,  as  she  glanced  over  the  porch  rail- 
ing and  saw  a  tall  swarthy  man  at  the  foot  of  the 

69 


steps,  carelessly  turning  the  handle  of  a  small 
squeaky  organ. 

Keeping  time  to  the  music,  a  weak  little 
monkey  danced  very  wearily.  When  his  steps 
dragged  he  was  brought  up  quickly  with  a  sharp 
jerking  of  the  chain  which  was  fastened  to  his 
collar. 

A  cap  was  held  on  his  head  by  a  tight  rubber 
band  which  passed  under  the  chin.  His  gaudy 
dress  was  heavy  and  warm  and  seemed  to  weigh 
down  his  tired  limbs. 

Now  and  then,  when  he  dared,  Jocko  laid  a 
tiny  brown  hand  on  the  tugging  chain  in  an 
effort  to  ease  it.  With  an  appealing  look  he 
glanced  up  at  his  master,  as  if  trying  to  make 
him  understand  how  painfully  the  collar  was 
cutting  his  thin  neck. 

II. 

Aunt  Kate 's  mild  blue  eyes  almost  flashed  as  she 
motioned  to  the  organ-grinder  to  stop  playing. 

"You  no  lika  music?"  he  asked  brokenly, 
glancing  up  at  her  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes,  that  is  right/'  she  answered,  speaking 
very  slowly  and  distinctly. 

"We  do  not  like  the  music;  and  we  do  not 
like  to  see  that  poor  monkey  dance ;  and,  above 

70 


all,  we  do  not  like  to  see  you  hurting  his  neck  by 
pulling  that  chain." 

The  look  of  sullen  anger  which  came  over  the 
man's  face  quickly  disappeared  when  he  saw 
the  coin  in  Aunt  Kate's  hand. 

"I  will  give  you  this/'  she  said,  holding  up 
the  piece  of  money,  "if  you  will  stay  here  and  let 
Jocko  rest  for  one  hour. ' 

The  organ-grinder  smiled  and  sat  down  on 
the  steps  as  a  sign  of  agreement. 

At  first,  Jocko  could  scarcely  believe  that  he 
might  rest  his  weary  little  legs  and  feet.  After  a 
while,  however,  he  threw  himself  at  full  length 
upon  the  porch  floor  as  some  worn  out  child 
might  have  done. 

Marion  was  left  on  guard  to  see  that  he  was 
not  disturbed  when  the  others  went  to  get  food. 

When  they  returned  they  found  Jocko  rest- 
ing on  a  soft  cushion,  a  comfort  his  little  body 
had  never  known  before. 

Only  after  being  promised  more  money  did 
the  organ-grinder  permit  Marion  to  take  off 
Jocko's  hard  leather  collar,  underneath  which 
she  had  discovered  sores. 

She  bandaged  the  tiny  neck  with  soft  linen 
spread  with  salve.  She  took  off  his  cap,  too, 
with  its  tight-cutting  band. 

72 


When  water  was  brought,  Jocko  drank  with 
pitiful  eagerness.  Many  hours  had  passed  since 
he  had  had  a  drink,  and  his  throat  and  lips  were 
parched.  He  ate  the  food  they  offered  him  like 
a  wild  creature,  for  he  was  very  hungry. 

Every  once  in  a  while  he  would  glance  at  the 
organ-grinder  as  though  he  feared  punishment. 

When  the  hour  was  up,  the  organ-grinder 
would  stay  no  longer.  As  his  master  led  him 
away,  Jocko  lifted  his  hat,  just  as  if  he  wanted  to 
thank  Aunt  Kate  and  the  girls  for  their  kindness* 

"I  never  knew  before,"  said  Marion,  "how 
cruel  it  is  to  expect  little  monkeys  to  live  such 
unnatural  lives.  I  do  hope  the  man  will  be  mdre 
kind  to  Jocko  after  this." 

— Mary  Craige  Yarrow — Adapted. 

QUESTIONS 

Why  didn't  the  girls  and  their  aunt  like  to  see  the  little 
monkey  dance? 

What  did  they  enjoy  seeing  it  do? 

Have  you  ever  been  very,  very  tired? 

Can  you  imagine  how  you  would  feel  if  some  giant  would 
not  let  you  rest? 

What  kind  of  life  is  natural  for  monkeys? 

Did  you  ever  give  a  penny  to  an  organ-grinder  with  a 
monkey  ? 

If  everyone  stopped  giving  money  to  men  who  use  mon- 
keys for  begging,  how  would  it  help  the  little  monkeys? 

73 


ROBIN  REDBREAST 

" Cheer  up!  Cheer  up!"  sings  Robin  Red- 
breast every  morning.  " Listen  to  me!  Listen 
to  me!  Oh,  excuse  me!  I  see,  I  see  a  feast!"  and 
down  he  hops,  hops,  hops  to  the  spot  where  he 
sees  a  nice  fat  worm  wiggling  out  of  the  ground. 

Perhaps  it  is  an  earthworm,  perhaps  it  is  a 
worse  worm ;  but  if  it  is  an  earthworm,  you  will 
have  fun  watching  Robin. 

He  seizes  the  worm  with  his  bill,  then  braces 
his  feet  against  the  earth,  and  pulls  and  pulls 
with  all  his  might. 

'Out  comes  the  worm  with  such  a  jerk  that 
Robin  almost  topples  over;  but  he  doesn't.  He 
either  eats  the  worm  or  flies  away  with  it  to  his 
hungry  little  birdies. 

Down  he  drops  it  into  one  of  the  wide  open 
mouths  in  the  nest. 

Do  you  know  how  many  earthworms  one  baby 
robin  can  eat  in  one  day? 

A  man  who  loves  birds  once  counted  the 
worms  that  one  pair  of  robins  fed  to  their  little 
ones,  and  found  that  each  little  robin  ate  sixty- 
eight  earthworms  in  one  day. 

Sixty-eight  earthworms  if  placed  end  to  end 
would  measure  about  fourteen  feet.  Just  think 

74 


what  busy  lives  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robin  Redbreast 
live,  and  how  they  love  their  little  ones. 

Robins  eat  many  other  kinds  of  worms  besides 
earthworms,  and  they  eat  insects,  too.  They 
work  hard  to  feed  their  babies,  and  in  this  way 
they  do  a  wonderful  thing  for  us,  for  the  insects 
they  eat  would  destroy  the  plants  which  we  need. 

You  know  bread  really  grows  on  tall  grasses 
called  wheat  and  rye,  and  oatmeal  grows  on  a 
grass  called  oats. 

There  are  millions  of  insects  which  like  wheat 
and  rye  and  oats  as  much  as  we  do,  and  they 
would  eat  up  all  the  crops  if  it  were  not  for  the 
birds  that  eat  the  insects.  Now  you  can  see 
why  we  call  the  birds  our  friends. 

WHO  KILLED  COCK  ROBIN? 

Who  killed  Cock  Robin? 

No ;  it  was  not  the  sparrow  with  a  bow  and 
arrow.  No — more  likely  a  boy  with  an  air  rifle 
killed  him,  or  a  man  with  a  gun  who  did  not 
know  what  a  wicked  thing  he  was  doing. 

He  did  not  know  that  he  had  killed  one  of 
his  best  friends. 

He  did  not  know  that  without  the  work  of 
beautiful  Robin  Redbreast  and  other  birds  the 
world  might  go  hungry. 

75 


What  if  robins  do  eat  a  few  cherries  ?  They 
like  mulberries  better.  A  wise  farmer  plants  a 
Russian  mulberry  tree  for  the  robins,  and  the 
mulberries  save  the  cherries. 

QUESTIONS 

Do  you  know  that  millions  of  men  and  boys  hunt  and  kill 
birds  "for  fun"  every  year? 

Do  you  know  that  millions  of  birds  are  killed  each  year 
to  be  used  in  trimming  women's  hats? 

How  many  different  birds  can  you  name? 

Can  you  tell  the  kinds  of  food  each  of  them  eats? 

Do  you  know  what  kinds  of  nests  they  build? 

What  do  you  think  of  people  who  kill  robins? 

Have  you  ever  placed  food  in  a  sheltered  place  for  birds 
in  winter  when  it  is  hard  for  them  to  find  a  living? 


MY  FRIEND,  MR.  ROBIN 

When  I  was  only  about  six  years  of  age,  a 
Robin  Redbreast  that  we  used  to  feed  got  so 
tame  that  he  would  fly  in  through  the  window 
to  our  breakfast  table. 

In  the  spring  he  delighted  us  by  bringing 
a  small  family  of  Roblings  to  the  window  sill 
of  the  room  as  if  to  introduce  them  to  the 
people  who  had  helped  him  through  the  hard 
winter! 

Another  special  bird  that  I  remember  was  a 
one-legged  sparrow  that  used  to  be  among  the 
birds  that  came  when  we  were  living  in  Buck- 
ing-ham-shire.  We  always  called  him  "  Timber- 
toes." 

He  came  to  us  for  two  or  three  winters,  so 
that,  even  with  but  one  leg,  he  must  have  picked 
up  a  living  somehow. 

— Little  Folks. 


A  WINTER  MENU  FOR  BIRDS 

Crumbs  of  bread  swept  off  the  breakfast  table. 
Morsels  of  fish  and  meat. 
Bones  hung  on  strings  from  tree  branches. 
Strips  of  bacon  rind  cut  up  into  small  bits. 
Small  seeds  of  any  kind.     (These  may  be  gathered 
in  summer  and  saved.) 

77 


QUESTIONS 

Did  you  ever  make  a  house  for  a  little  house  wren? 

Little  Jenny  Wren  is  looking  for  a  house  every  spring. 
She  is  a  very  friendly  neighbor.  Why  not  make  her  a 
house  with  a  doorway  too  small  for  Mrs.  Sparrow  to  squeeze( 
through?  Make  the  opening  only  one  inch  wide. 

The  meadow  lark  is  one  of  our  very  helpful  birds.  Do 
you  know  the  colors  of  the  meadow  lark's  feathers? 


IF  ALL  THE  BIRDS  SHOULD  DIE 

Now,  I  want  to  tell  you  something  that  is 
worth  knowing.  It  is  this.  If  all  the  birds 
in  the  world  should  die,  all  the  boys  and  girls  in 
the  world  would  have  to  die  also.  There  would 
not  be  one  boy  or  girl  left  alive ;  they  would  all 
die  of  starvation. 

And  the  reason  is  this.  Most  small  birds  live 
on  insects ;  they  eat  millions  and  millions  of  in- 
sects. If  there  were  no  birds,  the  insects  would 
increase  so  that  they  would  eat  up  all  vegetation. 
The  cattle,  and  horses,  and  sheep,  and  swine,  and 
poultry  would  all  die,  and  we  should  have  to  die 
also. 

Now,  what  I  want  all  of  you  to  remember,  is 
that  every  time  you  kill  one  of  these  little 
insect-eating  birds,  it  means  that  thousands  of 
insects  the  bird  would  have  eaten  are  going  to 

78 


live  to  torment  us ;  and  every  time  you  take  an 
egg  from  one  of  these  little  birds'  nests,  that 
means  one  less  bird  to  eat  the  insects.  I  do  not 
like  mosquitoes  and  insects.  I  think  it  is  better 
that  the  birds  should  live  and  eat  the  insects, 
than  that  the  birds  should  die  and  the  insects 
eat  us. 

— George  T.  Angell. 

QUESTIONS 

If  a  bird  in  a  cage  could  speak,  what  do  you  think  it  would 
say? 

Can  it  tell  you  when  it  has  no  drinking  water? 

Do  you  know  that  thirst  is  worse  than  hunger? 

Do  you  know  that  a  person  can  do  without  food  much 
longer  than  without  water? 

What  do  birds  do  for  farmers? 

What  do  they  do  for  you?  Don't  you  think  it  would 
be  foolish  to  destroy  them? 

Do  you  think  it  right  to  keep  wild  birds  in  cages?  Why 
not? 

Did  you  ever  notice  the  beautiful  doves  or  pigeons  in 
the  city? 

Why  are  they  so  tame? 


Don't  rob  the  birds  of  their  eggs,  boys, 
1  Tis  cruel  and  heartless  and  wrong ; 

And  remember,  by  breaking  an  egg,  boys, 
We  may  lose  a  bird  with  a  song. 

79 


FURRY 

My  house  is  in  a  little  grove  of  oak  trees. 

Every  winter  I  feed  several  gray  squirrels  with 
nuts. 

Every  day  about  noon  a  big  father  squirrel 
comes  and  scratches  on  my  kitchen  window. 

There  he  sits  on  the  sill,  watching  with  bright 
eyes  until  I  open  the  window  and  throw  out  some 
nuts. 

The  more  timid  squirrels  are  seated  on  the 
ground  looking  up  at  the  window.  They  catch 
the  nuts  and  scamper  away  with  them  up  to 
the  tops  of  the  trees.  But  not  Furry.  He  takes 
nuts  from  my  hands,  and  holding  them  in  his 
little  finger-claws,  gnaws  away  the  shell  faster 

80 


than  I  can  count  ten.  He  acts  quite  like  a  little 
pig  sometimes,  for  he  asks  for  more  than  he  needs. 

What  do  you  think  he  does  with  them? 

He  jumps  down  with  one  in  his  mouth  and 
starts  to  dig.  As  soon  as  the  hole  is  deep  enough 
to  suit  him  he  buries  the  nut,  packing  the  earth 
carefully  over  it  to  make  it  look  as  though  the 
ground  had  not  been  disturbed. 

Then  back  he  comes  for  another  nut. 

If  all  the  nuts  he  plants  were  acorns  and  he 
should  forget  to  come  and  find  half  of  them 
when  he  is  hungry — how  big  my  oak  forest 
would  be ! 


warn- 


QUESTIONS 
I. 

Have  you  ever  fed  a  squirrel? 

Where  have  you  seen  the  largest  number  together? 

Why  were  they  not  afraid? 

6  Si 


How  do  mother  squirrels  carry  their  babies  from  one 
place  to  another? 

How  do  mother  cats  carry  their  babies? 

If  mothers  did  not  love  their  babies  so  much,  what  would 
happen  to  all  animals  and  people? 

Do  we  have  to  thank  squirrels  for  some  of  our  trees? 
Why? 

II. 

Did  you  ever  wish  your  doll  or  rocking  horse  were  alive? 

Could  anyone  make  them  live? 

Isn't  being  alive  the  most  wonderful  thing  you  can 
think  of? 

Doesn't  it  make  you  glad  to  think  of  the  little  wild  things 
living  in  the  out-of-doors? 

Name  some  of  the  animals  living  in  the  woods. 

Would  the  country  be  as  pleasant  without  them? 

Why  should  you  dislike  to  hurt  any  of  them? 

III. 

Do  you  know  that  if  people  do  not  stop  hunting  wild 
ducks,  mountain  sheep,  deer,  and  other  animals  they  may 
all  be  killed? 

Did  you  ever  see  a  reindeer? 

Did  you  notice  its  beautiful  eyes? 

Would  it  be  fun  to  fight  a  baby? 

Are  not  many  animals  as  helpless  as  babies  when  they  are 
hunted? 

Don't  you  think  it  is  cowardly  to  shoot  little  helpless 
animals  "for  fun"? 


82 


THE  GROCER'S  HORSE 

I.     The  Careless  Driver 

It  was  the  week  before  Christmas.  Everybody 
was  ordering  all  sorts  of  good  things  to  be  sent 
home  "just  as  soon  as  possible." 

The  grocer's  boy,  John,  was  on  duty  early. 
Soon  many  baskets  were  filled  with  orders  to  be 
delivered. 

The  horse  was  hurried  out  of  the  stable  before 
he  had  quite  finished  his  breakfast,  and  John 
soon  had  the  baskets  piled  into  the  wagon. 

"Be  lively,  now,"  the  grocer  said.  "Get  back 
as  soon  as  you  can. '  ' 

John  jumped  on  the  wagon,  seized  the  whip  and 
gave  the  horse  a  sharp  cut  to  begin  the  day  with. 

83 


John  kept  the  whip  in  his  hand.  If  the  horse 
held  up  his  pace  a  minute  to  give  himself  a  chance 
to  breathe,  another  snap  of  the  whip  kept  him 
on  the  run. 

At  the  different  houses  where  he  left  the  grocer- 
ies John  rushed  in  and  out  as  quickly  as  possible. 
In  several  places  he  was  given  fresh  orders  for 
articles  that  were  needed. 

So  the  morning  passed,  and  dinner  time  arrived. 
As  John  put  the  horse  in  the  stable  he  could  not 
help  seeing  that  his  breath  came  hard  and  fast, 
and  that  he  was  wet  with  sweat. 

"I  guess  it  won't  do  to  give  him  any  water, 
he  is  so  hot, ' '  John  said,  as  he  hurriedly  put  a 
scanty  allowance  of  dry  feed  into  the  manger. 

The  worn-out  horse,  trembling  in  every  nerve 
with  the  fatigue  of  going  hard  all  the  morning, 
was  almost  choking  with  thirst. 

When  John  hurried  in  to  his  dinner,  the  first 
thing  he  asked  for  was  something  warm  to  drink. 
His  mother  gave  him  a  cup  of  hot  cocoa,  and  a 
good  dinner,  which  he  ate  rapidly.  Then  off  he 
started  for  the  afternoon's  work. 

" Hurry  up,"  said  the  grocer  as  soon  as  John 
appeared.  "Get  out  the  horse  and  take  these 
baskets;  they  are  all  rush  orders." 

"I  went  to  Mrs.  Bell's  twice  this  morning/' 

84 


said  John.  "I  should  think  she  might  give  all 
her  order  at  one  time  and  not  keep  us  running 
there  all  day/' 

"I  can't  help  it.  She  is  a  good  customer. 
Hurry  up/'  answered  the  grocer. 

John  ran  out  to  the  barn.  He  certainly  had 
meant  to  give  the  horse  water  before  he  started 
out  again,  but  being  hurried,  he  forgot  it.  In 
a  few  minutes,  whip  in  hand,  he  was  urging  the 
tired,  thirsty  horse  again  over  the  road. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon  the  horse 
began  to  hang  his  head.  When  John  touched 
him  up  with  the  whip  he  did  not  go  any  faster. 
When  he  stopped  for  the  third  time  at  Mrs. 
Bell 's  house  his  legs  were  trembling  and  he  closed 
his  eyes  as  if  he  were  going  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  Bell  looked  out  of  the  window  and  said 
to  her  Aunt  Sarah,  who  was  visiting  her,  "  I  think 
it  is  a  shame  for  Mr.  Rush  to  let  that  boy  race 
his  horse  so  all  day.  Every  time  he  comes  here 
the  horse  is  in  a  sweat,  and  now  he  looks  as  if 
he  would  drop.  It  is  wicked  to  work  a  horse  so ! " 

Her  aunt  replied,  "Yes,  the  horses  have  to 
suffer  for  man's  thoughtlessness,  and  woman's, 
too.  He's  been  here  three  times  to-day,  hasn't 
he?  "  But  Mrs.  Bell  did  not  see  the  point  of  the 
reply. 

85 


II.     What  Happened  in  the  Barn 

It  was  seven  o'clock  before  John  put  the  horse 
in  the  stable.  He  remembered  then  that  he  had 
given  him  no  water  all  day.  As  he  did  not  want 
to  be  obliged  to  go  out  to  the  barn  again  he  gave 
him  a  pail  of  ice-cold  water,  which  the  horse  drank 
greedily.  Then  he  put  his  supper  before  him 
and  left  him. 

He  did  not  stop  to  rub  down  the  aching  legs 
or  to  give  the  faithful,  exhausted  creature  any 
further  attention.  He  just  threw  a  blanket  over 
him  and  closed  the  barn  for  the  night. 

When  John  came  to  the  store  the  next  morning 
a  very  angry  looking  grocer  met  him  at  the  door. 
"  You  can  go  home  as  soon  as  you  like.  I  won't 
have  a  boy  that  drives  my  horse  to  death/'  he 
said. 

"Is  the  horse  dead?  '•'  asked  John,  turning  pale. 

"It  is  not  your  fault  if  he  is  not  dead.  I  have 
been  up  nearly  all  night  with  him,  and  I  must 
get  another  horse  to  take  his  place  until  he  is 
well/' 

"  You  told  me  to  hurry  every  time  I  went  out, " 
answered  John. 

"Well,  if  you  had  any  sense,  you  would  know 
when  a  horse  is  used  up  and  rest  him,"  replied 
the  grocer. 

86 


The  horse  died  that  day ;  and  the  grocer,  the 
boy  driver,  and  Mrs.  Bell  were  all  to  blame. 

The  grocer  ought  not  to  have  trusted  a  boy 
who  had  no  sympathy  for  animals.  Such  a  boy 
is  not  fit  to  drive  and  care  for  a  horse. 

John  was  too  selfish  to  give  the  horse  time  to 
breathe  or  to  eat,  and  he  did  not  care  whether 
he  was  made  comfortable  in  the  stable  or  not. 

Mrs.  Bell  was  thoughtless  in  giving  her  orders ; 
so  she  made  the  horse  take  many  unnecessary 
trips  to  her  house. 

So  a  willing,  patient  animal  was  neglected  and 
worked  to  death,  when  with  good  care  he  might 
have  lived  many  years  and  done  faithful  work. 
This  all  happened  because  the  man,  the  boy,  and 
the  woman  had  never  learned  to  be  thoughtful 
and  kind. 

— Mrs.  Huntington  Smith — Adapted. 
QUESTIONS 

What  do  you  think  of  a  man  who  is  cruel  to  horses? 

Do  you  think  people  respect  such  a  person? 

Did  you  ever  hear  that  " cruelty  is  the  meanest  crime"? 

How  would  you  treat  a  pony?    A  horse? 

Did  you  ever  read  " Black  Beauty"? 

Which  should  you  like  better  for  a  friend — a  man  who  is 
kind  to  animals  or  a  man  who  does  not  care  how  they  are 
treated,  just  so  that  he  gets  his  work  done? 

When  you  are  hurt,  or  sick,  what  do  you  do  ? 

Can  a  horse  or  any  animal  tell  a  friend  when  he  is  sick? 

87 


A  LETTER  FROM  A  HORSE 

To  the  Lady  of  the  House: 

Please  order  your  supplies  for  the  day 
early  in  the  morning  and  all  in  one  order. 
One  daily  trip  to  your  door  is  enough.  Two 
trips  will  wear  me  out  twice  as  fast. 

Telephoning  in  an  extra  order  doubles  the 
work  for  the  sales  clerk  and  bookkeeper  as 
well  as  for  the  driver  and  horse.  This  adds 
to  the  cost  of  all  you  buy. 

Hurry  up  orders  make  whippings  for  me. 

Please  think  of  those  who  serve  you,  both 
people  and  horses. 

Your  obedient  servant, 

The  Delivery  Horse. 

P.  S.  Some  boys  play  with  a  whip  over 
my  back,  not  meaning  to  hurt  me,  but  I 
cannot  see  the  fun.  It  makes  me  nervous, 
and  I  get  so  tired  by  night  from  being 
worried  that  I  tremble  all  over.  I  know 
boys  do  not  think  about  that  part. 

T.  D.  Horse. 


A  PLEA  FOR  THE  HORSE 

Every  horse  will  work  longer  and  better  if 
given  three  ample  meals  daily;  plenty  of 
clean,  fresh  water ;  proper  shoes,  sharpened 
in  slippery  weather;  a  blanket  in  cold 
weather;  a  stall  six  feet  by  nine  feet  or 
room  enough  to  lie  down ;  a  fly  net  in  sum- 
mer .and  two  weeks'  vacation  each  year.  Do 
not  use  the  cruel,  tight  check  rein,  or  closely 
fitting  blinders  which  cause  blindness. 

SPARE  THE  WHIP 


QUESTIONS 
I. 

Wouldn't  you  have  much  more  work  to  do  if  there  were 
no  horses? 

Have  you  ever  been  very  tired? 

Have  you  ever  been  very  thirsty? 

Could  you  ask  for  a  drink  of  water? 

Can  a  horse  ask? 

Don't  you  suppose  animals  suffer  terribly  with  thirst? 

What  would  a  horse  say  if  he  could  talk? 

Can  you  drive? 

Did  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  it  is  because  a  horse's 
mouth  is  so  tender  that  the  great  strong  animal  does  what 
the  driver  wishes? 

What  do  you  think  about  jerking  the  reins? 


Sh'ould  we  have  as  nice  and  comfortable  houses  or  food  or 
clothing  if  we  had  no  horses? 

II. 

Is  the  horse  a  laborer? 

Has  he  a  right  to  wages?    What  should  they  be? 

How  many  meals  a  day  should  a  horse  have? 

Can  you  imagine  how  it  would  seem  if  you  were  very, 
very  hungry  to  be  taken  into  a  place  where  tables  were 
spread  with  tempting  food,  and  be  driven  past  them  without 
a  bite? 

How  do  hungry  horses  feel  when  they  see  and  smell 
apples  and  grass? 

Can  you  run  as  fast  when  you  carry  a  heavy  load  as  you 
can  with  a  light  load? 

Can  a  horse? 

Did  you  ever  burn  your  mouth? 

Did  you  know  that  the  steel  bit,  if  put  very  cold  in  the 
horse's  mouth,  will  burn  off  the  skin  of  the  tongue  and  make 
the  mouth  sore — and  perhaps  prevent  the  horse  from 
eating? 

Could  the  bit  be  easily  warmed  by  dipping  it  into  hot 
water,  or  breathing  on  it  to  take  out  the  frost? 

Did  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  every  creature  that  is 
alive  can  suffer? 

III. 

Did  you  ever  see  a  driver  stop  on  a  cold  day  and  go  into  a 
restaurant  for  a  bowl  of  warm  soup  or  a  cup  of  coffee? 

Did  he  put  a  blanket  on  the  horse? 

Did  you  ever  see  a  horse  taken  into  a  stable  and  given  a 
warm  meal  on  a  cold  day? 

90 


Did  you  ever  see  non-skid  chain-shoes  for  horses? 
Do   you   know  that  burlap  tied    on  the  horses7  hoofs 
answers  the  same  purpose,  and  costs  only  a  little  time  and 

forethought  ? 

• 

The  driver  can  best  help  this  horse  to  get  up  by  spreading 
a  blanket  or  carpet  over  the  icy  roadway  under  his  feet. 


91 


PART  II 


COMMUNITY  OCCUPATIONS 

Stories  About  People  Who  Minister  to 
Our  Daily  Needs 

These  stories  develop  very  simply,  the  fundamental  ideas  of 
service,  dependence  and  interdependence,  and  reciprocal  duties. 
They  also  teach  incidentally  the  civic  virtues  of  thoroughness, 
honesty,  respect,  etc.,  which  form  the  subject  matter  of  Part  I 
cf  this  book. 


STORIES  ABOUT  PEOPLE~WHO  PROVIDE 
US  WITH  FOOD 


THE  BAKER 
I.    An  Early  Call 

"Good  morning,  children,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell, 
with  a  bright  smile — so  bright  that  it  seemed  as 
if  the  oatmeal  she  was  stirring  smiled  too. 

' '  Good  morning,  mother, ' '  said  Ruth.  ' '  My, 
but  we  are  early  this  morning;  it  is  only  seven 
o'clock." 

"Good  morning,  mother,"  said  Wallace, 
sleepily.  "May  I  go  back  to  bed  again?" 

"Yes — after  supper  to-night,"  replied  his 
mother.  "But  I  am  glad  you  are  up,  for  I  am 
expecting  a  caller  to  knock  at  the  door  any 
moment." 

"Who  is  it?  "asked  Ruth. 

"Oh,  he  is  a  very  important  man,"  said  her 
mother.  ' '  The  strange  part  of  it  is  that  he  never 
rings  the  front  door  bell,  but  always  comes  to 
the  kitchen  door  and  knocks." 

"Please  tell  us  who  he  is!"  cried  both  the 
children. 

95 


TELL  A  STORY 
ABOUT  THIS 

PICTURE 


THE  NEXT  TIME  A  LOAF  OF  BREAD  COMES  TO  YOUR  HOUSE,  WILL  YOU 
LOOK  INTO  IT  AND  SEE  IF  YOU 'CAN  FIND  PICTURES  LIKE  THE  ONES  IN  THE 
LOAF  ON  THIS  PAGE? 

HERE  YOU  WILL  FIND  PICTURES  OF  HARVESTING,  GRAIN  ELEVATOR, 
BAKERS  AT  WORK,  AND  BAKER  WAGON. 


97 


"Yes,"  went  on  Mrs.  Duwell,  "he  is  going  to 
bring  us  the  most  useful  and  wonderful  article 
sold  in  any  store  in  this  city." 

"Oh,  mother,  tell  us  what  it  is,"  begged  the 
children. 

Just  then  there  came  a  heavy  knock  at  the 
kitchen  door. 

"There  he  comes  with  it  now,  I  believe," 
whispered  Mrs.  Duwell.  "  Wallace,  you  may 
open  the  door.7' 

Wallace  ran  quickly  to  the  door  and  opened 
it,  and  there  stood — the  bread  man. 

"Oh,  mother,"  exclaimed  Wallace,  "it's  only 
the  bread  man!" 

"Wallace,"  said  his  mother,  "speak  more 
politely.  Say  'good  morning/  and  take  a  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  dozen  rolls." 

"Now,  mother,  tell  us  who  it  is  you  expect, 
and  what  he  is  going  to  bring,"  coaxed  Ruth  as 
soon  as  the  door  was  closed. 

"Sit  down  and  eat  your  breakfast,  children, 
and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it." 

When  the  children  had  been  served,  she  went 
on:  "The  man  I  spoke  about  has  just  gone- 
he  is  the  bread  man.    Isn't  a  loaf  of  bread  the 
most  useful  and  wonderful  article  sold  in  any 
store  in  the  city?" 


"Why,  mother,  you  are  joking  I"  exclaimed 
Wallace. 

"No,  indeed,  I  am  not.     Tell  me,  children, 


what  must  you  have  in  order  to  live?': 

"Food,"  replied  Ruth. 

"Correct;  and  what  article  of  food  do  we 
most  need?>; 

"Bread,"  replied  Ruth. 

"I  believe  that  is  so,"  said  Wallace,  after 
thinking  a  moment.  "I  am  going  to  talk  with 
father  about  it  when  he  comes  home  to-night." 

"That  is  right;  I  think  he  will  tell  you  some- 
thing about  wheat  fields  and  bake  ovens,"  said 
Mrs.  Duwell.  "Now  run  along  to  school  or 
you  will  be  late." 

II.    The  Staff  of  Life 

"Father,"  said  Wallace,  as  the  family  sat 
about  the  supper  table  that  evening,  "a  very 
important  man  called  at  the  door  this  morning 
before  we  went  to  school." 

"He  did!    Who  was  he?"  asked  Mr.  DuwelL 

"Guess  who,"  said  Ruth.  "He  left  us  the 
most  wonderful  and  useful  article  sold  in  any 
store  in  this  city." 

"Who  was  he?  What  was  it?"  Mr.  Duwell 
pretended  to  be  very  curious. 

99 


"  Guess !    See  if  you  can  guess ! " 

"Let  me  see — oh,  yes,  it  must  have  been  tht 
mayor  with  a  pound  of  butter." 

"Guess  again/'  shouted  the  children. 

"A  policeman,  with  a  bottle  of  ink." 

"No,  guess  again!" 

"I  give  it  up." 

"The  bread  man  with  that  loaf  of  bread," 
cried  the  children,  pointing  to  the  loaf  on  the 
table. 

"Well,  well,  I  believe  you  are  right,  children," 
said  their  father.  "I  certainly  ought  to  have 
guessed,  although  I  never  thought  of  the  bread 
man  as  a  very  important  man  before." 

"Mother  explained  it  to  us  this  morning 
and  said  that  you  would  tell  us  about  the  wheat 
fields  and  bake  ovens,"  spoke  up  Ruth. 

"I  certainly  will,  children,"  said  their  father, 
looking  pleased.  "Let  me  see;  what  is  this 
made  of?"  he  asked,  picking  up  a  piece  of 
bread. 

"Flour." 

"Yes,  what  kind?" 

"Wheat  Hour." 

"Correct;  so  this  is  wheat  bread.  What 
other  kinds  of  bread  are  there?" 

"Rye  bread,  bran  bread,  graham  bread." 

100 


it 


Yes;  and  in  Europe  bread-. is 
of  oats  and  barley. " 

" Bread  is  sometimes  called  by  another  name/' 
said  their  mother;  "did  you  ever  hear  of  it? 
The  staff- 

"The  staff  of  life,"  finished  the  children. 

"I  have  an  idea,"  cried  their  father  suddenly. 
"The  Spotless  Bakery  is  about  three  squares  up 
the  street.  It  is  open  in  the  evening.  I  know 
the  manager.  Let  us  go  up  there  to  see  how 
they  make  bread." 

"Hurrah  for  dad!  Fine,  come  on!"  cried 
Wallace. 

"I  wish  mother  could  go,"  Ruth  said. 

Her  mother  shook  her  head;  "No,  dear,  Fll 
not  go  this  time,  but  thank  you  for  thinking 
of  it." 

"We  won't  be  long,  mother,  and  well  tell  you 
about  everything  when  we  get  home,"  said  Wal- 
lace, as  the  three  left  the  house. 

III.    A  Visit  to  the  Bakery 

Soon  they  came  to  a  big  square  building  that 
seemed  to  be  all  windows,  blazing  with  light. 
Over  the  door  was  a  sign  which  read: 

THE  SPOTLESS  BAKERY 
101 


The  children  had  often  seen  the  building  be- 
fore but  had  never  been  inside. 

They  entered  and  their  father  asked  to  see  the 
manager.  Soon  he  came  bustling  in — a  round 
smiling  little  man,  dressed  in  a  spotless  white 
suit. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Duwell,"  he  said,  shak- 
ing hands. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Baker/'  replied  Mr. 
Duwell.  "This  is  Ruth,  and  this  is  Wallace. 
They  want  to  see  how  bread  is  baked,  if  you  are 
not  too  busy  for  visitors." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  show  you,"  said  Mr. 
Baker,  smiling  and  shaking  hands  with  both 
children;  "this  way,  please." 

Up  a  narrow  winding  stair  they  climbed  to 
the  sifting  room  on  the  fourth  floor. 

"Every  bit  of  flour  starts  on  its  journey 
through  these  sifters,"  said  the  manager,  point- 
ing to  a  row  of  box-like  sifting  machines. 

On  the  floor  stood  a  huge  pile  of  bags  of 
flour.  "Each  one  of  these  bags  holds  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  pounds,"  he  explained. 

Passing  down  the  stairway  they  saw  the  store- 
room piled  high  with  more  bags  of  flour.  '  *  There 
are  more  than  a  thousand  of  them,"  said  the 

manager. 

102 


Then  they  came  to  the  mixing  room.  Every- 
thing was  white — the  huge  mixers  were  white; 
the  walls  were  white;  the  bakers  were  dressed  in 
white  with  odd  round  white  caps;  the  dough 
trays  were  white — everything  was  white  and 
spotless. 

"The  flour  from  the  sifters  above  comes 
through  an  opening  in  the  floor  into  the  mixers. 
Then  the  yeast  and  other  things  are  added. 
The  electric  power  is  started.  The  great  iron 
arms  of  the  mixers  turn,  and  twist,  and  mix 
until  the  whole  mass  becomes  dough/7  Mr. 
Baker  explained. 

Along  the  wall  were  the  dough  trays  in  which 
the  dough  is  set  to  rise.  These  trays  remind 
one  of  huge  white  bath  tubs  on  wheels,  a  little 
wider  and  deeper  and  about  twice  as  long  as 
the  ones  in  our  houses. 

"How  much  will  each  one  of  those  hold?" 
asked  Wallace,  pointing  to  the  trays  full  of 
creamy  dough. 

"Enough  to  make  eleven  hundred  loaves," 
answered  the  manager. 

"Why,  there  must  be  over  forty  of  them," 
said  Wallace,  looking  down  the  long  line.  "How 
many  loaves  do  you  bake  in  a  day?" 

"We  have  two  more  bakeries  like  this,  and 

103 


in  the  three  we  bake  about  one  hundred  thou- 
sand loaves  a  day — besides  rolls  and  cakes." 

"  Why,  I  didn't  know  there  was  so  much  bread 
in  the  world/7  said  Wallace. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  there  are  bakeries  almost 
everywhere.  We  supply  only  a  small  part  of  the 
bread  needed  in  our  large  city." 

As  they  went  down  the  next  stairway  to  the 
baking  room,  the  pleasant  odor  of  fresh-baked 
bread  came  up  to  meet  them. 

"Here  they  are!"  cried  Ruth.  "Look,  Wal- 
lace, here  are  the  bake  ovens!" 

All  that  could  be  seen  on  one  side  of  the  room 
was  a  long  row  of  black  oven  doors,  set  in  a  low 
white-tiled  wall. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  room  were  large 
oblong  tables,  around  which  the  white-uni- 
formed bakers  were  busily  working. 

The  dough  was  piled  high  on  the  tables.  One 
baker  cut  it  into  lumps.  Another  made  the 
lumps  into  pound  loaves,  weighing  them  on  a 
scale.  Another  shaped  the  loaves  and  put  them 
into  rows  of  pans,  which  were  slipped  into  large 
racks  and  wheeled  to  the  oven  door. 

"Look,"  said  Wallace,  "they  are  going  to 
put  them  in!" 

A  baker  put  four  loaves  on  a  long-handled 

104 


flat  shovel;  then  quickly  opened  the  oven  door 
and  slipped  them  inside. 

"Look  at  the  loaves!"  cried  Wallace,  peeping 
into  the  open  door.  "  Hundreds  of  them. 
How  many  will  that  oven  hold?' 

"Six  hundred/ '  said  the  baker,  closing  the 
door. 

"Look/7  cried  Ruth,  "they  are  taking  them  out 
of  that  other  oven.  There  comes  our  loaf  for 
breakfast,  Wallace." 

Farther  down  the  room  a  baker  was  lifting 
out  of  an  oven  the  nut-brown  loaves,  bringing 
with  them  the  sweet  smell  of  fresh  bread. 

"Isn't  it  wonderful!"  said  Mr.  Duwell,  who 
was  almost  as  excited  as  the  children.  "Notice 
how  all  the  men  work  together,  everyone  doing 
his  part  to  help  the  others." 

"What  are  the  baking  hours?"  he  asked  the 
manager. 

"From  twelve  o'clock,  noon,  till  midnight,  the 
ovens  are  kept  going  as  you  see  them  now,"  said 
the  manager. 

"We  will  go  down  one  more  flight  to  the 
shipping  room,"  he  added,  leading  the  way. 

There  the  finished  loaves  were  coming  down 
from  the  floor  above  on  great  racks  to  wait 
for  shipping  time.  The  space  in  front  of  the 

105 


shipping  platform  was  crowded  with  wagons 
and  automobiles. 

"Why,  look!"  said  Wallace,  "there  are  more 
wagons  than  automobiles.  I  should  think  you 
would  use  automobiles  entirely." 

"No,"  replied  the  manager,  "the  automobiles 
are  better  for  long  distances ;  but  for  short  dis- 
tances, where  the  driver  has  to  start  and  stop, 
horses  are  much  better.  When  the  driver 
serves  bread  along  a  street  he  calls,  'Come 

106 


Dolly/  or  whatever  the  horse's  name  is,  and  the 
horse  follows.  The  horse  is  alive;  the  automo- 
bile isn't." 

"When  does  the  delivery  start?"  asked  Mr. 
Duwell. 

"Soon  after  midnight." 

After  thanking  the  manager  for  his  kindness, 
shaking  hands  all  around,  and  bidding  him 
good-night,  the  little  party  hurried  home. 

All  that  night  Wallace  dreamed  that  he  was 
putting  loaves  of  bread  into  a  big  oven  and  lift- 
ing them  out,  brown  and  crisp,  on  the  end  of  a 
long-handled  shovel,  loading  them  into  a  de- 
livery wagon,  and  driving  all  over  the  city,  so 
that  the  people  could  have  fresh  bread  for 
breakfast. 

IV.     Where  the  Wheat  Comes  From 

At  the  table  the  next  evening  the  children 
were  still  talking  about  their  visit  to  the  bakery. 

"Well,  children,"  said  their  father,  "we 
followed  the  flour  through  the  bakery  to  the 
loaf  on  our  table.  What  do  you  say  if  we  take 
a  little  journey  to  the  place  where  the  wheat 
comes  from." 

"Fine!"  cried  Wallace.  "When  can  we 
start?" 

107 


"  Right  now,  son,  but  it  will  be  a  stay-at- 
home  journey/'  said  Mr.  Duwell;  and  every- 
body laughed. 

"Let  us  see/'  Mr.  Duwell  went  on;  "where 
did  the  thousand  bags  of  flour  we  saw  in  the 
bakery  come  from?" 

"I  know/'  said  Ruth.  "I  read  'Minn.'  on 
one  of  the  bags." 

"Good,  Ruth,"  said  her  father.  "That  is 
what  I  call  using  your  eyes.  What  does  '  Minn.' 
stand  for?" 

"Min-ne-so-ta,"  answered  Wallace  quickly. 

"Correct!  Minnesota  has  great  wheat  fields, 
and  so  have  North  and  South  Dakota, 
Kansas,  and  many  other  states ;  but  the  wheat 
in  our  loaf  grew  in  Minnesota. 

"Wallace,  step  over  to  the  bookcase  and  bring 
me  the  large  book  marked  'W.? ; 

Wallace  brought  it  in  a  moment. 

Mr.  Duwell  opened  the  book  and  found  some 
colored  pictures. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  he.  "What  does  it  say 
under  the  first  picture,  Ruth?" 

"' Reaping  and  Binding  Wheat/"  read  Ruth, 
bending  over  the  book. 

"Right!  There  is  our  loaf  growing,  and  there 
is  the  machine  cutting  the  wheat  and  tying  it 

108 


into  bundles.  What  does  it  say  under  this  pic- 
ture, Wallace  ?" 

'" Threshing  by  Steam/  "  read  Wallace. 

"Yes — taking  the  wheat  from  the  straw  and 
chaff.  What  comes  next,  Ruth?" 

" '  Grain  El-e-va-tor/ "  read  Ruth. 

"  What  is  a  grain  elevator?  "  asked  Mr.  Duwell. 

"Why,  the  place  where  the  wheat  is  stored  until 
needed." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Duwell,  "some  elevators  are 
so  large  that  they  will  hold  nearly  two  million 
bushels  of  wheat." 

"Plenty  large  enough  to  hold  our  loaf,"  added 
Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Now  read  again,  Wallace." 

"  'In-te-ri-or  of  Flour  Mill/  "  read  Wallace. 

"Yes,  that  is  where  they  grind  the  wheat  into 
white  flour  and  remove  the  bran." 

"  Bran  is  the  outside  coat,  isn't  it  ?"  asked  Ruth. 

"Yes,  that's  it!    Now  read  again." 

"'Train  Being  Loaded  with  Flour/3  read 
Ruth. 

"Yes,  that  must  be  a  picture  of  the  fifteen 
car  loads  of  flour  used  every  week  by  the  Spot- 
less Bakery." 

"I  never  would  have  believed  it  took  so  many 
people  to  make  a  loaf  of  bread,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 

109 


Duwell.  "Let  me  see:  the  plowman,  the  sower, 
the  reaper, — go  on,  Wallace." 

"The  thresher,  the  miller,  the  train-men,  the 
baker—  '  added  Wallace. 

"And  the  baker's  horses,"  finished  Ruth. 


QUESTIONS 

Have  you  ever  visited  a  bakery?    Tell  about  it. 

The  Duwell  family  had  a  splendid  time  finding  out  things 
about  their  bread  and  rolls,  didn't  they? 

Why  don't  you  try  it  with  some  of  the  other  things  you 
eat? 

Can  you  think  of  some  ways  of  helping  this  very  useful 
man,  the  baker? 

Suppose  company  had  come  unexpectedly  to  see  your 
great-grandmother  when  she  did  not  have  bread  enough 
baked.  How  would  she  have  gotten  bread  for  her  guests? 

What  would  your  mother  do  if  the  same  thing  happened 
to  her? 


Praise  God  for  wheat,  so  white  and  sweet, 

Of  which  we  make  our  bread ! 
Praise  God  for  yellow  corn,  with  which 

His  waiting  world  is  fed ! 

— Edward  Everett  Hale. 


110 


BAKING  THE  JOHNNY-CAKE 

Little  Sarah  stood  by  her  grandmother's  bed, 
"Now  what  shall  I  get  for  your  breakfast?75 

she  said. 
"You  may  get  me  a  johnny-cake.     Quickly  go 

make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  and  in  two  minutes  bake  it.77 


So  Sarah  went  to  the  closet  to  see 
If    yet    any   meal    in    the    barrel 

might  be. 
The  barrel  had  long  been  as  empty 

as  wind, 

111 


And  not  a  speck  of  corn  meal  could  she  find. 
But  grandmother's  johnny-cake,  still  she  must 

make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  and  in  two  minutes  bake  it. 


She   ran   to    the   store,    but   the 

storekeeper  said, 
"I  have  none.     You  must  go  to 

the  miller,  fair  maid, 
For  he  has  a  mill,  and  hell  put  the  corn  in  it, 
And  grind  you  some  nice  yellow  meal  in  a  minute. 
Nowrun,  or  the  johnny-cake,  how  will  you  make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it?" 

Then  Sarah  she  ran  every  step  of 

the  way, 
But  the  miller  said,  "No,  I  have 

no  meal  to-day. 
Run,  quick,  to  the  cornfield,  just  over  the  hill, 
And  if  any  corn's  there,  you  may  fetch  it  to  mill. 
Run,   run,   or  the  johnny-cake,   how  will  you 

make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it?" 

She  ran  to  the  cornfield — the  corn 

had  not  grown, 
Though  the  sun  in  the  blue  sky 

pleasantly  shone. 
112 


"Pretty  sun,"  cried  the  maiden,  "please  make 
the  corn  grow.7' 


"Pretty  maid/7  the  sun  answered,  "I  cannot  do 

so.77 
"Then  grandmother's  johnny-cake,  how  shall  I 

make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it?7: 

But  Sarah  looked  round,  and  she 

saw  what  was  wanted ; 
The  corn  could  not  grow,  for  no 

corn  had  been  planted. 
She  asked  of  the  farmer  to  sow  her  some  grain, 
But  the  farmer  laughed  till  his  sides  ached  again. 
"Ho !  ho  !  for  the  johnny-cake,  how  can  you  make 

it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it?7' 

The  farmer  he   laughed,   and   he 

laughed  very  loud— 
"And  how  can  I  plant  till  the 

land  has  been  plowed? 
Run,  run,  to  the  plowman,  and  bring  him  with 

speed ; 
He'll  plow  up  the  ground  and  Til  fill  it  with 

seed.77 

Away,  then,  ran  Sarah,  still  hoping  to  make  it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it. 

8  113 


The  plowman  he  plowed,  and  the  grain  it  was 

sown, 
And  the  sun  shed  his  rays  till  the  corn  was  all 

grown. 

It  was  ground  at  the  mill,  and  again  at  her  bed 
These  words  to  kind  Sarah  the  grandmother 

said, 
"  Please  get  me  a  johnny-cake — quickly  go  make 

it, 
In  one  minute  mix,  in  two  minutes  bake  it." 

From  "Child  Life:  A  Collection  of  Poems," 

Edited  by  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


114 


THE  MILKMAN 

I.     Before  the  Sun  Rises 

"  What  do  you  think  one  of  our  lessons  was 
about  to-day,  mother  ?"  asked  Ruth,  coming  in 
from  school  one  afternoon. 

"I  couldn't  guess/'  said  her  mother.  "  What 
was  it  about?" 

" The  milkman." 

"The  milkman,"  repeated  Mrs.  Duwell  in 
surprise;  "that  must  have  been  interesting." 

"Yes,  we  just  talked.  Teacher  asked  ques- 
tions ;  she  asked  if  we  liked  bread  and  milk  or 
cereal  and  milk,  and  said  that  they  made  an 
excellent  breakfast. 

"What  do  you  think,  mother,"  Ruth  went  on; 
"teacher  told  us  that  not  many  years  ago  the 
milkman  came  around  with  big  cans  of  milk 
and  measured  whatever  you  wanted,  a  pint  or 
a  quart,  into  your  pitcher  or  milk  pail." 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell.  "That 
is  the  way  they  did  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  How 
did  they  come  to  change?  Did  your  teacher 
tell  you?" 

"  People^  Joiind  that  it  was  not  san-i-ta-ry, 
teacher  said.  The  milk  was  not  always  kept 
clean ;  so  the  milkmen  put  it  into  pint  and  quart 

115 


TELL  A  STORY  ABOUT  THIS  PICTURE. 
116 


THE  NEXT  TIME  YOU  DRINK  A  GLASS  OF  MILK  THINK  ABOUT  WHAT  A  LONG 
JOURNEY  IT  HAS  TAKEN. 

THE  MILK  IN  THE  BOTTLE  IN  THIS  PICTURE  CAME  IN  A  BIG  CAN  FROM  THE 
COW  TO  THE  RAILROAD  STATION,  ON  THE  TRAIN  TO  THE  CITY  JAIRY  WHERE 
IT  WAS  BOTTLED  AND  TESTED.  IT  WAS  THEN  SENT  OUT  IN  A  LARGE  AUTO 
TRUCK  TO  THE  DELIVERY  WAGON  WHICH  TOOK  IT  TO  THE  DUWELL  FAMILY. 

DOES   THE    MILK   WHICH   YOU   USE   TAKE   AS   LONG   A   JOURNEY   AS   THAT? 

117 


bottles,  with  paper  caps  to  keep  out  flies  and 
germs." 

"Did  you  find  out  where  the  milk  comes 
from?''1 

"Oh  yes,  from  the  farms.     Teacher  showed  us 

pictures  of  cows ;  some  with  tan  and  white  coats 

—Jerseys ;  and  some  with  black  and  white  coats 

— Holsteins,  I  think  she  said.     I  should  love  to 

see  real  cows." 

"So  you  shall,  dear,  the  next  time  we  go  into 
the  country. 

"I  remember,"  continued  Mrs.  Duwell,  "hear- 
ing your  grandfather  say  that  when  he  was  a 
boy  he  had  to  be  out  of  bed  before  daylight, 
sometimes  as  early  as  three  o'clock,  and  go  out 
into  the  cold  barn  to  milk  the  cows." 

"Three  o'clock  in  the  morning!"  exclaimed 
Wallace,  who  had  just  come  in. 

"Yes;  then  he  had  to  hurry  into  the  kitchen 
for  breakfast,  then  out  again,  hitch  up  old  Dob- 
bin, load  the  milk  cans  on  the  wagon  and  drive 
to  the  nearest  station  to  catch  the  milk  train. 
He  had  to  do  all  this  by  six  o'clock — before 
most  people  in  the  city  think  of  getting  up." 

"My,  there  wasn't  much  fun  in  that,"  said 
Wallace. 

"No,  indeed.      You  remember  the  deep  snow 

118 


in  March  last  winter.  I  asked  our  milkman 
what  time  he  started  on  his  rounds.  What 
do  you  think  he  said?" 

"Six  o'clock,"  replied  Wallace. 

"Earlier  than  that,  son,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell. 
"He  laughed  and  said,  'I  have  to  load  up  and 
start  by  three  o  'clock  to  serve  all  my  customers 
before  breakfast. " 

"Yes,"  added  Ruth,  "teacher  told  us  about 
that  and  asked  what  would  happen  if  the  driver 
overslept  and  did  not  get  over  the  route  before 
breakfast." 

"What  did  you  answer?" 

"Why,  that  we  might  have  to  do  without 
milk  for  breakfast." 

"Or  we  might  have  to  wait  for  breakfast  until 
eleven  o'clock,"  said  Wallace. 

"Oh,  Wallace,"  cried  Ruth,  "I  didn't  say 
that !  If  we  waited  for  breakfast  until  eleven 
o'clock  we  would  be  dreadfully  late  for  school." 
And  dreadfully  hungry,  too,"  said  Wallace. 

I'm  glad  our  milkman  gets  up  on  time." 


u 
u 


II.     Milk,  from  Farm  to  Family 

'Well,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  where  the 
Clover  Leaf  Dairy  gets  our  milk  from,"  said 
Wallace. 

119 


"It  is  this  way.  The  dairy  wagon  meets  the 
milk  train  and  takes  the  cans  of  milk  to  the 
dairy.  There  they  test  the  milk  to  see  if  it  is  pure 
and  fresh. 

"Next  they  empty  the  milk  into  a  big  white 
tank  and  heat  it  to  kill  the  disease  germs.  After 
quickly  cooling  the  milk,  they  put  it  into  bot- 
tles, and  it  saves  the  babies'  lives,"  said  Ruth 
almost  without  stopping  to  take  breath. 

Her  mother  smiled  and  asked,  "Did  your 
teacher  tell  you  the  name  of  that  work?" 

"Yes;  but  it  was  a  long  word,  and  I  have  for- 
gotten it,"  answered  Ruth. 

"Pas-teur-i-zing."  Her  mother  said  it  for 
her. 

"Yes,   that's   it — pasteurizing.     I  could  not 

120 


think.  It  kills  all  the  bad  germs  so  that  the 
milk  is  safe  for  even  the  weakest  babies. 

"  Teacher  told  us  about  a  good  man  in  New 
York,"  Ruth  went  on,  " named  Mr.  Straus,  who 
was  sorry  because  so  many  babies  died  from 
drinking  impure  milk.  He  made  it  so  that 
poor  babies  in  New  York  could  have  pasteurized 
milk ;  and  then  less  than  half  as  many  died  as 
before." 

"  Wasn't  that  a  noble  thing  to  do/'  said  her 
mother. 

"Yes;  our  teacher  says  that  almost  everybody 
uses  pasteurized  milk  now,  and  in  this  way  thou- 
sands of  babies'  lives  have  been  saved.  She 
says  that  we  ought  to  be  grateful." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell;  "we  ought 
to  be  grateful  to  the  milkman,  the  farmer,  and 
everybody  that  helps  to  bring  us  pure  milk." 

QUESTIONS 

Would  you  like  to  get  up  long  before  daylight,  on  cold 
winter  mornings  to  deliver  milk  for  people's  breakfast? 

Tell  some  of  the  things  you  like  that  you  could  not  have 
to  eat  if  the  milkman  did  not  come. 

Have  you  ever  visited  a  big  dairy? 

Tell  about  it. 

Imagine  you  own  a  herd  of  cows  in  the  country,  and  tell 
some  of  the  things  you  would  do  in  order  to  be  sure  to  send 
good,  pure,  clean  milk  to  the  dairy. 

121 


THE  GROCER 

I.     The  Old-time  Grocer 

"Wallace,  light  another  candle,  please.  I 
cannot  see  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Duwell  as  he  sat 
smiling  at  the  head  of  the  dining  table,  with 
carving  knife  lifted  ready  to  carve  the  roast. 

Wallace  turned  on-  another  electric  light,  and 
everybody  laughed. 

"That's  a  good  guess,  son,"  said  his  mother. 
"On  my  grandfather's  farm  they  always  burned 

candles,  and  grandmother  made  them  herself." 

122 


"Made  them  herself !"  exclaimed  Ruth. 

"Yes,"  replied  her  mother.  "I  have  often 
seen  the  candle  moulds.  They  looked  like  a 
row  of  tin  tubes  fastened  together.  The  wicks 
were  hung  in  the  middle  of  the  tubes,  and  the 
melted  tallow  was  poured  in  around  them. 
When  the  candles  were  hard  and  cold,  they 
were  slipped  out  ready  for  use." 

"Your  grandmother  must  have  been  smart. 
What  relation  was  she  to  me?"  asked  Ruth. 

"Your  great-grandmother,  dear.  She  was 
'  smart/  indeed.  She  made  not  only  candles, 
but  soap." 

"Soap!"  said  Ruth  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  and  butter,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell 

"Your  great-grandfather  was  ' smart/  too," 
said  Mr.  Duwell.  "Why,  Wallace,  he  butch- 
ered a  pig  or  two,  and  sometimes  a  cow  in  the 
fall  for  the  winter's  meat." 

"Weren't  there  any  grocers  or  butchers?" 
asked  Wallace. 

"Yes,  indeed;  your  great-grandmother  was 
the  grocer,  and  your  great-grandfather  was  the 
butcher  for  the  family." 

"But  weren't  there  any  stores?" 

"Yes,  the  stores  were  in  the  big  kitchen  pantry, 
the  cellar,  and  the  ice-house." 

123 


"I  mean  grocery  stores  like  Paiker's,  and 
Wiggin's,"  explained  Wallace. 

"No,  until  the  towns  and  villages  sprang  up 
there  were  no  stores  such  as  we  have  now,"  said 
Mr.  Duwell.  "You  see,  there  were  not  many 
people  to  buy  things  in  the  early  days,  and  they 
lived  on  farms  many  miles  apart,  so  it  did  not 
pay  anyone  to  keep  a  store. 

"Why  is  the  grocery  so  useful  to  everybody?" 
he  asked. 

"Because  it  sells  food." 

"That  is  it.     You  see,  when  enough  people 
lived  in  one  place  to  make  a  village  or  town, 
some  one  opened  a  store.     Now,  how  did  he 
get  flour  to  sell?" 

"From  the  miller." 

' '  Right — and  potatoes  ? ' ' 

"From  the  farmer." 

"Yes,  the  miller  brought  flour  and  the  farmer 
brought  potatoes  to  the  grocer  for  him  to  sell." 

"And  when  grandma  made  more  butter  than 
she  could  use  she  sent  it  to  the  grocer,"  added 
Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Where  did  the  grocer  get  his  stock  of  brooms, 
Ruth?"  asked  her  father. 

"From  the  broom-maker." 

"That  is  the  idea.     All  who  grew  or  made 

124 


more  things  than  they  could  use  brought  them 
to  the  grocer  to  be  sold.  So  the  grocer  helped 
them  and  they  helped  him,  and  the  people  went 
to  the  store  for  their  supplies. 

"You  must  remember,  children/'  went  on  Mr. 
Duwell,  "  the  old-fashioned  country  store  was  very 
different  from  Parker's  grocery  around  the  corner. 
Besides  groceries,  it  sold  harness,  horse  blankets, 
hardware,  shoes,  and  everything  people  needed. " 

II.     The  Modern  Grocer 

"  Suppose  Wallace  were  a  grocer,  Ruth,  how 
would  you  like  his  store  to  be  kept?"  asked  her 
mother. 

"  Clean — oh,  so  clean ! "  replied  Ruth. 

"Yes/ what  else?" 

"Full  of  shelves  with  all  the  packages  and 
bottles  and  other  things  in  their  places." 

"How  would  you  treat  the  people,  Wallace?" 
asked  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"I  would  be  very  polite,  and  try  to  have  every 
article  they  wanted  fresh  and  good." 

"That  is  right,  and  I  know  you  would  be 
honest  and  truthful." 

"If  you  were  that  kind  of  grocer,  Wallace," 
said  Mr.  Duwell,  "you  would  be  of  real  service 
to  the  people." 

125 


"What  kind  of  customers  would  you  like  to 
have,  Wallace?  "  asked  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Oh,  people  who  paid  their  bills  on  time  and 
didn't  find  too  much  fault/'  answered  Wallace. 

"Well,"  said  Ruth,  "if  you  were  anything 
like  that,  your  customers  would  certainly  call 
you  The  Spotless  Grocer. " 


QUESTIONS 

Think  of  all  the  extra  work  your  mother  and  father 
would  have  to  do  if  there  were  no  grocery  stores.  Is  there 
one  near  your  house?  'Are  you  glad? 

What  kind  of  grocery  store  do  you  like? 

What  kind  of  grocer  do  you  like  to  deal  with? 

Try  playing  store,  and  pretend  that  your  customers  will 
not  pay  their  bills  and  that  the  men  from  whom  you  buy 
come  to  insist  on  your  paying  them.  What  will  happen? 

If -you  were  a  real  grocer,  would  you  like  that  to  happen  ? 

Can  you  think  of  some  other  ways  you  can  help  the 
grocer  besides  paying  your  bills  promptly? 

126 


STORIES  ABOUT  PEOPLE  WHO  HELP 
CLOTHE  US 


THE  TAILOR 

I.     The  Accident 

Wallace  was  very  proud  of  the  new  suit  of 
clothes  his  father  had  just  bought  him.  He 
wanted  to  wear  it  to  school  the  first  day  after 
it  came  home. 

"If  I  were  you  I  should  keep  it  for  best  for  a 
while,  Wallace/'  said  his  mother.  "Your  old 
suit  is  good  enough  for  school  for  some  time.'7 

"But  Tom  Dolittle  is  going  to  wear  his  new 
suit  to-day;  he  told  me  so." 

"It  doesn't  seem  wise  to  me,  Wallace — but 
wear  it  if  you  think  best." 

"All  right,  mother,"  said  Wallace  as  he 
skipped  away  to  put  it  on. 

A  few  minutes  later  his  mother  stood  watching 
a  very  happy  boy  running  down  the  street. 

"Mother!"  called  Wallace,  walking  slowly 
upstairs  when  he  came  in  from  school. 

"Here  I  am,  boy,  in  the  sitting  room/' 
answered  his  mother, 

127 


"  Just  see  what  has  happened  to  my  new  suit ! " 

"Have  you  torn  your  jacket?" 

"No,  it's  not  torn/'  he  said,  coming  into  the 
room.  "It  is  worse  than  that.  I'm  afraid  it 
is  ruined.  Look!  Look!" 

"Why,  child,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Duwell,  "how 
did  this  happen?  Let  us  go  into  the  bathroom 
to  wipe  off  a  little  of  the  mud.  That  may 
prevent  stains." 

She  hardly  knew  the  mud-splashed  boy  who 
stood  before  her,  so  very  unlike  the  spick  and 
span  Wallace  of  the  morning. 

"Well,  dear,  don't  worry  too  much,"  she  said. 
"We  will  see  what  the  tailor  can  do  for  us." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  can  make  it  clean  enough 
for  me  to  wear?"  asked  the  boy  eagerly. 
•  "I  think  that  he  can  make  it  look  very  well," 
said  his  mother.  "Put  on  your  other  suit  and 
we  will  take  this  one  around  to  the  tailor's  shop. 
But  you  haven't  told  me  what  happened." 

"  Why,  it  was  this  way:  I  was  chasing  some  of 
the  boys,  and  just  as  I  reached  the  corner  an  auto- 
mobile came  speeding  out  of  West  Street.  It 
skidded  into  the  curb,  and  splashed  the  mud 
over  me  from  head  to  foot.  The  whole  thing 
happened  in  less  than  a  minute.  You  ought 
to  have  heard  the  boys  laugh!" 

128 


"I  am  thankful  you  were  not  hurt/'  said 
his  mother.  "I  will  put  on  my  wraps  and  we 
will  go  at  once." 

II.     At  the  Tailor  Shop 

"Good  afternoon/'  said  Mrs.  Duwell  to  the 
tailor  as  they  entered  the  shop. 

"Good  afternoon/7  said  the  tailor.  "What 
can  I  do  for  you  to-day  ?" 

"We  want  to  see  if  you  can  make  this  suit  of 
clothes  look  like  new/'  said  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Let  me  look  at  it/'  said  the  man,  untying 
the  parcel,  and  examining  the  mud-splashed 
clothing. 

"Well,  that  is  pretty  bad,  but  I  guess  we  can 
do  a  good  job." 

"How  much  will  you  charge?"  asked  Wallace 
anxiously. 

"Seventy-five  cents,  if  you  call  for  it,"  said  the 
tailor,  taking  out  a  tag.  ' '  What  name,  please  ? ' ' 

"Give  your  name,  son,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Wallace  Duwell,"  said  the  boy.  "When 
may  I  come?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow,"  replied  the  tailor. 
"We  will  do  our  best  to  make  it  look  like  new." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Wallace,  smiling  for 
the  first  time  since  the  accident. 

129 


TELL  THE  STORY  OF  THIS  PICTURE. 

IP  YOU  LOOK  AT  YOUR  COAT  CAREFULLY  YOU  WILL  FIND  A  STORY  ABOUT 
SHEEP  SHEARING,  SPINNING,  WEAVING,  AND  TAILORING  JUST  LIKE  THE  STORY 
SHOWN  IN  THE  PICTURES  IN  THE  COAT  ON  THE  OPPOSITE  PAGE. 


130 


Do  YOU  EVER  THINK  OF  THE  MANY  PEOPLE  WE  HAVE  TO  THANK  FOR  OUR 
NICE  WARM  CLOTHING? 

131 


"Good  afternoon,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell,  as  they 
left  the  shop. 

"Good-by,"  answered  the  tailor;  "come 
again." 

"Mother,"  said  Wallace,  after  they  had  walked 
a  few  minutes,  "it  was  my  fault  that  this  ac- 
cident happened,  and  I  want  to  pay  for  having 
the  suit  cleaned.  I  have  the  money  Aunt  Mary 
gave  me  for  Christmas." 

"That  will  please  your  father,  Wallace.  We 
will  tell  him  the  whole  story  this  evening." 

III.     What  the  Tailor  Saved  the  Duwell  Family 

When  Wallace  finished  telling  about  the  ac- 
cident his  father  said, ' '  I  wonder  how  much  money 
the  tailor  is  saving  us  by  doing  this  work?" 

"I  never  thought  about  that,"  admitted  Wal- 
lace. 

"Let  me  see.  We  paid  seven  dollars  and  a 
half  for  that  suit,  didn't  we,  mother?"  asked 
Mr.  Duwell. 

"Yes,  I  think  that  was  the  amount,"  answered 
Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Well,  if  the  suit  couldn't  be  cleaned  it  would 
mean  that  we  should  have  to  buy  another  in  its 
place.  Mother  can  clean  a  suit  well,  but  even 
she  could  not  make  as  sorry  a  looking  suit  as 

132 


yours  look  like  new.     Now  do  a  little  problem 
in  arithmetic." 

Wallace    promptly    pulled    pad    and    pencil 
from  his  pocket,  and  wrote: 


Cost  of  suit 
Tailor's  charge  for 

Saved 

-       -       $7.50 
cleaning,      .75 

-       -       $6.75 

"Six  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents !  I  didn't 
think  it  would  be  that  much ! "  he  exclaimed  in 
surprise. 

"Be  sure  to  thank  the  tailor  when  you  go 
after  your  suit,M  said  Mr.  Duwell. 

"I  certainly  will/'  said  Wallace. 


QUESTIONS 

Do  you  ever  visit  the  tailor's? 

Tell  about  his  shop. 

Do  you  think  his  work  is  easy?    Could  you  do  it?. 

If  you  were  a  tailor  and  had  worked  hard  to  do  good, 
prompt  work,  how  would  you  like  to  be  treated  in  return? 

If  your  suit  could  talk  about  all  the  things  that  happened 
to  it  before  it  came  to  you,  it  would  tell  a  very  interesting 
story.  Pretend  you  are  a  suit  and  tell  all  about  yourself. 

133 


THE  DRESSMAKER 

I.    An  Invitation  to  a  Party 

"  Mother,"  said  Ruth,  coming  in  from  school 
a  few  days  later,  "  Mildred  May  dole  has  invited 
me  to  her  birthday  party.  She  wrote  the  invi- 
tations herself  on  the  prettiest  little  note  paper. 
Here  is  mine." 

Mrs.  Duwell  read : 

Dear  Ruth, 

It  will  give  my  mother  and  me  much  pleasure 
if  you  will  come  to  my  birthday  party  from  three 
to  six  o'clock,  Saturday  afternoon,  January 
twenty-eighth. 

Your  friend, 

Mildred  Maydole. 

"  Oh,  mother,  please  say  I  may  go ! "  cried  Ruth 
excitedly,  jumping  up  and  down  on  tiptoe.*  "  Mil- 
dred wants  an  answer  soon,  so  that  her  mother 
can  make  her  plans." 

"Why,  my  dear,  I  think  you  may  go,"  said  her 
mother,  "  if  I  can  get  your  new  dress  made  by  the 
twenty-eighth.  You  have  grown  so  fast  that 
I  have  not  been  able  to  keep  up  with  you  in 
sewing." 

"I  am  so  happy  with  the  thought  of  going," 
exclaimed  Ruth,  "that  I  can  scarcely  wait  for 

134 


the  day.  You  know,  mother,  Mildred  is  older 
than  I,  and  it  is  a  great  honor  to  be  invited  to 
her  party. " 

' '  Yes,  indeed,  it  is, ' '  agreed  her  mother.  ' '  Natu- 
rally Mildred  could  not  invite  all  the  children  in 
your  grade  at  school ;  so  if  I  were  you  I  would  not 
talk  about' the  party  before  the  other  children. 
You  see,  it  might  hurt  the  feelings  of  some  who 
were  not  invited." 

"That's  just  what  Mildred  said,  mother;  she 
asked  us  to  keep  it  a  secret  for  that  reason.'7 

"Well,  dear,  if  you  do  keep  it  secret,  do  not 
make  a  mystery  of  it,  whispering  among  the 
fortunate  ones  and  letting  the  others  wonder  why 
you  all  say,  'Hush/  when  they  happen  to  come 
near." 

"Why,  mother!  how  did  you  know?"  asked 
Ruth  flushing.  "  Now  that  I  think  of  it,  that  is 
just  what  we  did  do." 

"Instead  of  just  telling  Mildred  that  you  will 
come,"  said  her  mother,  "I  think  it  would  be 
better  to  write  a  note  accepting  the  invitation." 

"I'll  do  it  right  away!"  exclaimed  Ruth,  run- 
ning to  her  little  desk.  "Will  you  help  me  with 
the  words?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  DuwelL  "How  would  it 
do  to  say  this : 

135 


Dear  Mildred, 

My  mother  is  very  much  pleased  with  the  kind 
invitation  to  your  birthday  party,  and  says  that 
I  may  come  on  Saturday  afternoon. 

Your  friend, 

Ruth  Duwell." 

When  Ruth  had  finished  writing,  she  sealed 
the  envelope. 

"I  shall  hand  this  to  Mildred  after  school  is 
dismissed  at  noon,"  she  said.  " Thank  you  for 
helping  me,  mother." 

II.     A  Disappointment 

Mrs.  Duwell  had  been  unusually  busy  for 
several  days  after  the  conversation  about  the 
party. 

One  day  she  said,  "Ruth,  dear  child,  I  cannot 
seem  to  find  time  to  make  your  new  dress.  I 
wonder  if  Miss  Fells  could  make  it  before  the 
twenty-eighth.  Why  not  run  over  and  ask  her  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  mother,  why  not?  I  think  that  is  a 
good  idea,"  agreed  Ruth. 

"I  do,  too,"  said  her  mother.  "Here  is  the 
material  that  grandma  sent  you.  Run  along, 
and  do  not  forget  to  thank  Miss  Fells  if  she  will 
agree  to  make  your  dress." 

"No,  indeed,  mother,  I  won't,"  said  Ruth. 

136 


III.     At  the  Dressmaker's 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Fells/'  said  Ruth,  when 
she  entered  the  door  of  the  dressmaker's  house. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Ruth/'  said  Miss  Fells,  who 
knew  the  little  girl.  Then,  noticing  the  package, 
she  added,  "Oh,  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  ask 
me  to  make  you  a  dress  any  time  soon." 

Ruth's  heart  sank.  "I  was  going  to,  Miss 
Fells,"  she  admitted. 

"How  soon?"  asked  the  dressmaker. 

"By  January  the  twenty-eighth."  Then  she 
told  about  the  party  and  her  mother's  disappoint- 
ment. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  do  it—  '  began  Miss 
Fells.  Then  seeing  the  tears  in  Ruth's  eyes,  she 
said,  "But  let  me  look  at  the  goods,  Ruth." 

The  little  girl  spread  the  material  out  on  the 
table. 

' '  Isn't  it  pretty ! ' '  exclaimed  Miss  Fells.  ' '  Per- 
haps I  can  get  some  extra  help.  Come  for  a  tit- 
ting  to-morrow  at  four  o'clock,  and  we'll  see  what 
can  be  done." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  Miss  Fells!" 
Ruth  exclaimed. 

Then  she  ran  all  the  way  home  to  tell  the  good 
news. 

"Now  we  see,  Ruth,"  said  her  mother,  "how 

137 


WHAT  is  RUTH  ASKING  THE  DRESSMAKER? 
138 


THE  "BUTTER- 
FLIES" ON  THIS 

PAGE  ARE  THfi 
MOTHS  OF  TWO 
OF  OUR  AMERI- 
CAN SILKWORMS. 

IN  OLDEN  DAYS, 
SPINNING  WAS 
DCNE  AT  HOME. 
TODAY  WE  HAVE 
GREAT  SPINNING 
AND  WEAVING 
MACHINES,  AND 
MUCH  OF  OUR 
CLOTHING  IS 
MADE  IN  FAC- 
TORIES. 


139 


glad  we  should  be  that  different  people  do  differ- 
ent things  for  us.  A  person  who  studies  and 
works  in  one  special  line  must  do  better  than  one 
who  works  at  it  only  once  in  a  while — the  way  I 
do  dressmaking." 

"  Why,  that  is  true,  mother,"  exclaimed  Ruth, 
"I  never  thought  of  it  before,  though." 

"  There  are  many  more  things  to  be  learned 
about  dressmakers,"  went  on  her  mother.  "Let 
us  talk  about  some  of  them  this  evening." 

"Mother,  I  suppose  father  will  ask  a  lot  of 
questions — just  as  he  did  about  the  tailor." 

"I  don't  doubt  that,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell,  "and 
I  am  glad  that  you  are  interested.  I  have  heard 
my  grandmother  say  that  when  she  was  young, 
there  were  no  ready-made  paper  patterns." 

"Why,  mother,  how  could  people  make  dresses 
then?"  asked  Ruth. 

"It  was  done  in  this  way.  A  seamstress  or 
some  one  who  liked  to  make  dresses  would  cut 
out  and  fit  a  dress  for  somebody  in  her  family  01 
neighborhood.  If  the  dress  was  pretty,  the  pat- 
tern would  be  borrowed  and  used  by  almost  the 
entire  village." 

"Didn't  people  mind  if  other  dresses  were  made 
just  like  theirs?"  asked  Ruth. 

"No,"  said  her  mother,  "styles  did  not  change 

140 


quickly  in  those  days.  Indeed,  the  getting  of  a 
new  dress  was  a  great  event  in  the  life  of  a  girl, 
and  it  was  chosen  most  carefully. 

"You  see, it  served  first  as  a  best  dress;  then, 
being  turned,  it  often  served  as  second  best. 
After  that,  perhaps  it  would  be  handed  down  to 
a  younger  child  to  be  worn  as  long  as  it  had 
been  by  its  first  owner." 

"My/'  cried  Ruth.  "I  am  glad  I  didn't  live 
in  the  days  when  new  dresses  were  so  scarce." 

141 


Mrs.  Duwell  smiled.  "  Children  to-day  have 
more  of  everything  than  children  ever  had  before. 
They  have  more  clothes  and  playthings,  and  better 
chances  for  ed-u-ca-tion — but  here  comes  your 
father,  Ruth.  You  may  run  and  tell  him  of 
our  plan  for  the  evening." 

Mr.  Duwell  was  very  much  pleased  with 
the  plan.  When  the  evening  came  he  asked 
and  answered  many  questions.  He  then  showed 
the  children  pictures  of  silkworms  in  a  large 
book  marked  "S." 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "do  you  know  that 
we  have  silkworms  right  here  in  America?  The 
American  silkworms  spin  silk  as  strong  and 
beautiful  as  that  of  the  Chinese  silkworms. 
But  the  people  here  do  not  have  the  time  or 
patience  to  grow  silkworms.7' 

IV.    The  Party 

Ruth's  dress  was  not  finished  until  an  hour 
before  the  party  began. 

As  soon  as  the  last  stitch  was  taken, 
Miss  Fells  herself  carried  it  to  the  Duwell 
home. 

Ruth  was  "on  pins  and  needles"  for  fear  it 
would  not  be  done  in  time,  and  she  was 
delighted  to  see  the  dressmaker. 

142 


"Oh,  Miss  Fells,  I  cannot  thank  you  enough 
for  getting  it  done!"  she  cried. 

"Hurry  and  put  your  dress  on,"  said  Miss 
Fells.  "I  want  to  see  how  it  fits." 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell,  Ruth  was 
dressed. 

"It  fits  perfectly,"  said  Miss  Fells,  who  was 
almost  as  happy  as  Ruth  herself. 

"It  certainly  does,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell.  "It  is 
just  right." 

Mildred  was  very  glad  when  Ruth  arrived  at 
the  party,  for  she  knew  of  her  worry  about  the 
dress. 

"It  is  beautiful,  Ruth,"  she  said,  looking  with 
sparkling  eyes  at  the  pretty  smocking  on  the 
waist  and  skirt.  "Miss  Fells  told  me  she  was 
going  to  surprise  you,"  she  added. 

"She  surely  did  surprise  me.  Wasn't  she 
kind!"  replied  Ruth. 

The  party  was  a  delight.  One  of  the  games  was 
a  contest  in  needle  threading.  Ruth  threaded 
her  needle  in  the  shortest  time  and  won  the  prize, 
a  pretty  silver  thimble. 

"Perhaps  the  new  dress  helped  you  to  win," 
said  Mildred. 

"Won't  Miss  Fells  be  pleased  when  she  hears 
about  it,"  said  Ruth. 

143 


QUESTIONS 

Does  your  mother  ever  sew  for  a  long  time  without 
resting? 

How  does  her  back  feel  when  she  stops? 

Do  you  think  dressmaking  is  easy  work? 

Can  you  tell  some  of  the  things  dressmakers  need  in  their 
work? 

If  you  have  ever  visited  a  silk  or  woolen  or  cotton  mill, 
tell  about  it. 

Where  do  the  mill  owners  get  their  materials? 

Where  do  the  stores  get  ready-made  clothing? 

Could  you  or  the  shoemaker  or  the  baker  make  as  beauti- 
ful and  comfortable  clothing  as  the  dressmaker? 

Why  can  she  do  it  so  well? 

How  can  we  make  her  work  easier? 

THE  SILK  DRESS 


My  dress  is  pretty, ' '  a  little  girl  said. 

Did  you  make  it  ?  M I  asked.  She  shook  her  head. 

No,  I  didn't  make  it,"  she  laughed  in  glee. 
"It  took  lots  of  people  to  make  it,"  said  she. 
"Ill  tell  you  about  it,  because  I  know 
What  my  mother  told  me  is  truly  so. 

"The  silkworms  grew  it,  and  after  a  while 
Men  unraveled  it  into  a  pile ; 
Girls  spun  it  and  wove  it  and  sent  it  away, 
And  my  mother  bought  it  for  me  one  day ; 
And  the  dressmaker  cut  it  and  sewed  it  for  me— 
These  are  the  reasons  I  love  it,"  said  she. 

144 


THE  SHOEMAKER 
I.     The  Worn  Shoes 

"  Where  now,  Wallace?"  asked  Mr.  Duwell  as 
he  met  his  son  one  bright  afternoon. 

The  boy  was  carrying  a. bundle  under  his  arm. 

" Mother  sent  me  over  to  the  shoemaker's/' 
replied  the  boy. 

"I  am  glad  I  ran  across  you/'  said  Mr. 
Duwell;  "I  have  an  errand  over  in  that  direc- 
tion; I'll  walk  along  with  you." 

"  Oh,  all  right,  father.  Mother  said  she  wished 
she  could  ask  you  about  my  shoes.  We  could 
not  make  up  our  minds  whether  they  were  worth 
half-soling  or  not." 

"Why  not  talk  the  matter  over  with  the  shoe- 
maker?" said  Mr.  Duwell. 

"I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  let  them  get  so 
worn  before  taking  them  to  Mr.  Shoemaker's," 
remarked  Wallace. 

"  As  mother  says,  'A  stitch  in  time  saves  nine/ ; 
remarked  Mr.  Duwell. 

"By  the  way,  father,"  continued  Wallace, 
•"isn't  Mr.  Shoemaker's  name  a  good  one  for  a 
cobbler?" 

Mr.  Duwell  smiled.  "Very  good,  indeed;  but 
really  it  isn't  so  strange  as  it  seems.  Many  years 

145 


ago,  when  people  did  not  have  two  names,  they 
became  known  by  the  names  of  the  trades  they 
followed.  For  instance,  John  the  baker  became 
John  Baker,  and  later  Mr.  Baker;  so  also  the 
tailor  became  Mr.  Taylor;  the  mason,  Mr.  Mason; 
the  carpenter,  Mr.  Carpenter. " 

"And  the  blacksmith,  Mr.  Smith;  and  the 
cook,  Mr.  Cook/'  added  Wallace. 

"Yes,"  said  his  father,  "and  we  could  think  of 
many  more  such  names ;  but  here  we  are  at  Mr. 
Shoemaker's.  Suppose  you  attend  to  this  little 
matter  of  business  by  yourself,  while  I  do  my 
errand." 

This  made  Wallace  look  pleased  and  important 
as  he  stepped  into  the  shop. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Shoemaker,"  he  said. 

"Good  afternoon,"  replied  the  shoemaker; 
"what  can  I  do  for  you  to-day?" 

Wallace  handed  him  the  parcel,  which  he 
opened. 

"Do  you  think  it  would  pay  to  put  half-soles 
and  new  heels  on  these  shoes?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"Pretty  good  uppers,"  replied  the  shoemaker, 
examining  them  carefully.  "I  think  it  would 
almost  double  the  length  of  life  of  these  shoes  to 
mend  them,  but  I  would  not  wear  the  next  pair 
quite  so  long  before  having  them  mended." 

146 


"  I  think  you  are  right/'  said  Wallace.  "  How 
much  will  you  charge?7 

"  A  dollar  and  a  quarter  for  soles  and  heels/7 
replied  the  man. 

" Isn't  that  a  good  deal?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Not  too  much  if  we  use  the  best  quality  of 
leather,  and  it  doesn't  pay  to  use  any  other." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Shoemaker,"  agreed  Wallace. 
"  When  shall  I  call  for  them?  " 

"On  Saturday,"  he  replied,  writing  Wallace's 
name  on  a  tag. 

"Very  well,  good  afternoon." 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  shoemaker. 

Outside  the  door  Wallace  was  joined  by  his 
father. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  did  right  to  leave  my 
shoes,  father,"  said  Wallace.  "Mr.  Shoemaker 
said  the  charge  would  be  a  dollar  and  a  quarter. 
Doesn't  that  seem  a  big  price?" 

' '  It  does, ' '  replied  Mr.  Duwell, "  but  I  think  you 
did  right.  A  new  pair  of  such  shoes  would  cost 
three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents." 

"And  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents,  less 
one  dollar  and  a  quarter,  equals  two  dollars  and 
a  half  saved,"  finished  Wallace. 

"That  is  true,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Duwell,  "if 
they  last  as  long  as  a  new  pair." 

147 


TELL  THE  STORY  OF  THIS  PICTURE. 


148 


CAN  YOU  TELL  SOME- 
THING  ABOUT  TANNING 
AND  FINISHING  LEATH- 
ER ?  HAVE  YOU  EVER 
VISITED  A  SHOE  FAC- 
TORY ? 


IT  SEEMS   STRANGE    TO    THINK    THAT    THE    LEATHER    IN    OUR    SHOES    WAS 
ONCE   WORN   BY   ANIMALS,  DOESN'T  IT  ? 

149 


"I  suppose  we  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged 
to  the  shoemaker,  even  though  we  do  pay  him 
for  his  work/'  mused  the  boy  aloud. 

"So  we  should/'  said  his  father.  "  Every  one 
who  does  good  work  helps  the  world  along, 
whether  he  is  paid  for  it  or  not." 

"But  I  shouldn't  want  to  be  a  shoemaker/' 
went  on  Wallace. 

"Why  not,  Wallace?" 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know,  father." 

"Shoemaking  is  very  interesting,  and  it  re- 
quires skill,  my  boy.  Of  course,  the  making 
of  new  shoes  does  not  require  the  skill  it  did 
years  ago  because  so  much  of  the  work  is  done 
by  machines." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  shoemaker  who  became 
a  great  man?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Oh,  that  is  the  question,  is  it?"  said  Mr. 
Duwell  with  a  smile.  "I  have  heard  of  several, 
and  this  evening  I  shall  be  glad  to  talk  about 
them." 

II.     Shoemakers  Who  Became  Famous 

That  evening,  when  the  family  was  seated 
around  the  library  table,  Mr.  Duwell  brought 
out  a  book  and  took  up  Wallace's  question. 

"Here  is  a  book,"  he  said,  "that  tells  many 

150 


facts  about  shoemakers  who  became  noted  men. 
Let  me  read  about  some  of  them. 

"'One  of  our  most  famous  American  poets, 
John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  in  early  life,  was  a  shoe- 
maker. Whittier  never  forgot  the  lessons  he 
learned  while  working  at  the  shoemaker's  bench. 
His  book  of  poems,  called  Songs  of  Labor, 
printed  in  1850,  contains  a  stirring  poem  about 
shoemakers.' 

"Here  are  two  other  famous  men,"  said  Mr. 
Duwell,  turning  the  page  he  was  reading. 

"'Among  noted  Americans  Who  were  shoe- 
makers was  Roger  Sherman,  of  Con-nec-ti-cut. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  Congress  of  1774. 
Sherman  was  one  of  the  brave  men  who  signed 
the  Dec-lar-a-tion  of  In-de-pen-dence. 

"  'At  least  one  vice-president  of  the  United 
States  was  a  shoemaker — Henry  Wilson,  who 
was  made  vice-president  when  General  Grant 
became  president  in  1872.  He  was  often  called 
"the  Na-tick  Cobbler,"  because  he  was  once  a 
shoemaker  in  the  town  of  Natick.' 


. . 


So  you  see,  Wallace/'  Mr.  Duwell  went  on 
after  a  little  pause,  "the  kind  of  work  you  do 

151 


doesn't  matter  so  much.    It  is  how  well  you  do 
it  that  makes  the  difference." 


u 
u 


I  think  I  do  see,  father/'  said  Wallace. 
Maybe,  after  all,  I'll  be  a  shoemaker.  Then, 
perhaps,  I'll  become  a  poet  or  vice-president  of 
the  United  States." 

Everybody  laughed. 

"Wouldn't  you  rather  be  a  tailor?  "askedRuth. 

"I  don't  believe  I  should  stand  as  good  a  chance 
then,"  replied  Wallace. 

"I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  Mr.  Duwell  laugh- 
ing. "  Andrew  Johnson  was  a  tailor,  and  he 
became  Presidejit  of  the  United  States ;  but  all 
mother  and  I  hope  for,  son,  is  that  you  will 
become  a  useful,  well-educated  man." 

III.     At  the  Shoemaker's  Shop 

When  he  called  for  his  shoes  on  Saturday,  Wal- 
lace looked  at  the  shoemaker  with  new  respect. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Shoemaker,"  said  Wal- 
lace. "Are  my  shoes  ready?" 

"Good  morning,"  replied  the  shoemaker. 
"Yes,  here  they  are." 

' '  They  look  fine ! ' '  exclaimed  the  boy.  ' '  Thank 
you  for  doing  such  a  good  job.  Here  is  the 
money — a  dollar  and  a  quarter — is  that  right?" 

152 


'  Yes,  thank  you, ' '  replied  the  shoemaker.  ' '  It 
isn't  every  day  that  a  customer  thanks  me  for 
doing  a  good  job.  Most  people  don't  give  a 
thought  to  anything  but  finding  fault  if  the 
work  isn't  right — especially  boys." 


QUESTIONS 

Is  there  a  shoemaker's  shop  near  your  home? 

Did  the  shoemaker  ever  save  you  or  your  family  any 
money? 

Can  you  tell  about  him  and  his  shop? 

What  kind  of  customers  do  you  think  he  likes? 

See  if  you  can  make  a  list  of  the  people  whom  you  have  tc 
thank  for  a  new  pair  cf  shoes. 


Rap-tap !  rap-tap-tap ! 

Rings  the  shoemaker's  hammer; 
He's  making  old  shoes  look  quite  new 

With  swift  and  merry  clamor. 

Rap-tap !  rap-tap-tap ! 

List  to  the  shoemaker's  song; 
By  mending  shoes  he  does  his  part 

To  help  the  world  along. 

153 


STORIES  ABOUT  PEOPLE  WHO  SUPPLY 
US  WITH  SHELTER 


THE  CARPENTER 

I.     A  Trip  into  the  Country 

"It's  just  possible  that  I  may  be  home  very 
early,  perhaps  in  time  for  twelve  o'clock  lunch/7 
remarked  Mr.  Duwell,  one  Saturday  morning 
as  he  was  starting  for  business. 

"Oh,  wouldn't  that  be  fine!"  exclaimed  the 
children.  "  We'll  be  looking  for  you." 

Even  before  the  noon  whistles  had  ceased  blow- 
ing, three  eager  faces  were  peering  out  of  the  win- 
dows, for  Mrs.  Duwell  was  as  interested  as  Ruth 
and  Wallace. 

154 


"Oh,  I  do  hope  father  will  come  soon!"  ex- 
claimed Ruth. 

"I  am  sure  to  see  him  first/'  said  Wallace 
with  a  superior  air.  "I  can  see  farther  than 
you!" 

"You  can't  see  father  any  better  than  I  can," 
replied  Ruth,  "for  I  see  him  this  minute." 

"You  do?    Where?"  asked  Wallace. 

"I  certainly  do — may  I  run  to  meet  him, 
mother?" 

"Oh,  I  see  him ! "  cried  Wallace.  " I  am  going, 
too!" 

"Yes,  run!"  said  Mrs.  Duwell.  "You  both 
have  better  eyes  than  I  have."  Almost  before 
she  had  finished  speaking,  the  children  were  rac- 
ing toward  a  carriage.  As  the  driver  drew  rein, 
they  climbed  in. 

"Well,  here  we  are!"  Mr.  Duwell  sang  out,  as 
they  drove  up  in  front  of  the  door.  "What  does 
the  Duwell  family  say  to  a  ride  this  pleasant 
afternoon?" 

"What  a  grand  surprise ! "  called  Mrs.  Duwell, 
who  was  now  standing  on  the  top  step. 

"I  am  going  to  get  an  apple  for  the  horse," 
cried  Wallace,  and  away  he  ran.  In  a  moment 
he  returned. 

uHow  does  that  taste,  old  fellow?"  he  asked, 

155 


u 
it 


rubbing  the  horse's  soft  nose  as  he  munched  the 
apple. 

"He  isn't  really  hungry/'  said  Mr.  Duwell. 
"He  had  his  dinner  just  before  we  left  the  livery 
stable,  and  the  stable  man  gave  me  a  bag  of  grain 
for  his  supper;  but  I  guess  he  doesn't  often  get 
apples." 

It  didn't  take  long  to  eat  lunch  that  day,  the 
family  were  so  excited. 

"Where  are  we  going,  father?"  asked  Wallace. 
Just  into  the  country,"  said  Mr.  Duwell. 
It  has  been  so  long  since  we  have  seen  the 
green  fields  that  I  thought  a  trip  would  do  us 
all  good." 

Soon  they  left  the  city  streets  behind,  and  came 
to  a  beautiful  country  road,  along  which  they 
drove  for  several  miles. 

"Oh,  see  that  funny-looking  house ! "  exclaimed 
Ruth  suddenly.  "It  looks  like  a  cage !" 

"That  isn't  a  house,  yet,"  said  Mr.  Duwell; 
"it  is  only  the  frame- work." 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Wallace,  "is  that  the  way 
wooden  houses  are  built?" 

"It  is,  little  city  people,"  replied  Mr.  Duwell. 
"No  wonder  you  are  not  familiar  with  such  a 
sight.  City  houses  are  not  built  of  wood,  be- 
cause of  the  danger  of  fire." 

156 


"I  should  like  to  see  that  house  closer ,"  said 
Wallace. 

" We'll  drive  over  there/'  his  father  agreed, 
turning  the  horse's  head. 

As  they  drew  near,  Wallace  exclaimed,  "  Why, 
there's  Mr.  Emerson  on  the  porch;  he  is  my 
teacher.  I  wonder  what  he  is  doing  here." 

At  that  moment  Mr.  Emerson  saw  the  boy. 
"Good  afternoon,  Wallace,"  he  said,  lifting  his 
hat  and  bowing  to  the  party  as  he  came  toward 
the  carriage. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Emerson,"  said  Wal- 
lace, lifting  his  cap;  "I  should  like  to  have  you 
meet  my  mother  and  father." 

Mr.  Emerson  bowed,  and  shook  hands  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"And  this  is  Wallace's  sister,  Ruth,"  said  Mr. 
Duwell. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  you,  Ruth,"  Mr.  Emerson 
said.  "Are  you  thinking  of  moving  into  the 
country?"  he  asked  after  a  minute.  "If  so;  I 
hope  you  will  be  my  neighbors." 

"Do  you  live  here,  Mr.  Emerson?  "  asked  Wal- 
lace. 

Not    yet,"   replied   Mr.  Emerson,   smiling; 
but    we    hope    to    when    the    new    house    is 
finished. 

157 


u 

u 


"What  a  comfortable  home  it  will  be."  said 
Mr.  Duwell. 

Mr.  Emerson  looked  pleased.  "Won't  you 
come  in  and  see  the  plan?"  he  asked. 

"Thank  you,  we  shall  be  delighted  to,"  said 
Mr.  Duwell. 

II.     The  Sawmill 

After  they  had  gone  all  over  the  house,  they 
bade  Mr.  Emerson  good-by  and  drove  away. 

"Won't  it  be  fine !  How  I  should  love  to  live 
there ! ' '  The  children  were  still  talking  about  the 
new  house. 

'  Where  do  you  suppose  Mr.  Emerson  got  the 
wood?"  questioned  Ruth. 

"I  know,"  answered  Wallace;  "at  the  lumber 
yard." 


u 


Did  he,  father?  Couldn't  he  have  just 
chopped  down  some  of  those  trees  over  there  ?" 
asked  Ruth,  pointing  to  a  wooded  hill  to  the 
right. 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  repliedMr.  Duwell.  "Be- 
fore trees  can  be  used  in  building  they  have  to 
be- 

"  Sawed  into  boards  and  planks/7  finished  Wal- 
lace. 

' '  Good ! ' '  said  his  father.  ' '  And  where  is  that 
done?" 

"At  the  sawmill,"  said  the  boy. 

' '  That  reminds  me—  ' '  said  Mrs.  Duwell; ' '  there 
is  a  sawmill  over  at  the  bottom  of  that  hill.  Mr. 
Emerson  told  me  about  it.  Some  of  his  lumber 
came  from  there." 

"Then  this  road  must  lead  to  it,"  said  Mr.  Du- 
well, pulling  up  at  a  cross-road  that  ran  through 
the  woods  towards  the  hill. 

"What  does  that  sign-post  say,  Wallace?" 

Wallace  jumped  out  and  examined  the  dingy 
sign,  which  was  hardly  readable. 

' e  Sawmill  Road ;  this  is  the  right  way ! "  he  cried. 

They  had  not  driven  far  along  the  shady  road 
when  a  peculiar  whistling  sound  met  their  ears. 

"There's  the  saw,  now,  I  believe!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Duwell. 

159 


"So  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Duwell.  "Trot  along, 
boy !"  he  urged  the  horse. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road  they  came  upon 
the  old  sawmill,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  The  smooth  mill  pond  shone  brightly 
in  the  sun.  As  the  water  fell  over  the  dam, 
it  tumbled  into  a  noisy  little  brook  which  ran 
under  a  bridge  and  away  down  the  valley. 
The  refreshing  odor  of  pine  and  cedar  filled 
the  air. 

Several  men  were  busy  sawing  the  trunk  of  a 
pine  tree  into  long,  clean  planks.  The  children 
watched  the  circular  saw  with  wonder  as  its  sharp 
teeth  ate  into  the  sweet-smelling  wood.  Its  shrill 
music  delighted  them. 

"  Yes,  sir/'  the  foreman  replied  to  a  question 
of  Mr.  Duwell's, ' '  most  sawmills  are  run  by  steam 
power.  Very  few  old-fashioned  water  wheels  are 
left  in  this  part  of  the  country.  Let  me  show  you 
our  wheel." 

"This  is  the  sluice-way,"  he  explained,  pointing 
to  a  long  narrow  canal  full  of  flowing  water. 
"The  sluice-way  leads  the  water  from  the  pond 
to  the  top  of  the  wheel." 

Going  down  a  flight  of  steps  on  the  outside 
of  the  building,  they  stood  right  beside  the  old 
moss-covered  wheel.  It  was  a  huge  wooden  frame- 

160 


work  with  shelves  or  buckets  all  around  the  wide 
rim  to  catch  the  water. 

The  water  poured  out  of  the  sluice-way  over 
the  wheel,  turning  it  slowly  and  steadily.  As 
the  wheel  turned,  the  water  kept  falling  with 
noisy  splashes  into  the  stream  below. 

"What  makes  it  go  round?"  asked  Wallace 
eagerly. 

"The  force  and  weight  of  the  water  pouring 
over  it,"  replied  the  foreman.  "That  is  what 
we  call  water  power." 

"Think  of  it,  children!"  said  Mr.  DuwelL 
"That  old  wheel  helped  to  build  Mr.  Emerson's 
house." 

' '  Yes/ '  said  the  foreman, ' '  it  has  helped  to  build 
many  houses  besides  Mr.  Emerson' s.  That  old 
water  wheel  has  been  sawing  wood  just  as  you 
see  it  now  for  over  a  hundred  years." 

III.     The  Carpenter 

On  the  way  home  the  little  party  talked  about 
their  adventures. 

"Mr.  Emerson  must  have  had  help  to  build 
a  house  like  that,"  remarked  Ruth  after  a 
pause. 

"Oh,  he  didn't  build  it,  goosey,"  said  Wallace. 

"Who  did,  then,  Mr.  Know-it-all?" 

161 


'Why,  the  carpenter,  of  course/7  Wallace  re- 
plied. 

"Oh,  I  see/'  exclaimed  Ruth.  "The  carpenter 
builds  the  house  for  Mr.  Emerson,  and  Mr.  Emer- 
son has  time  to  teach  you  boys." 

"That  is  exactly  right,  little  girl/7  said  her 
father. 

"Besides,  no  one  person  can  do  many  things 
well.  Perhaps  Mr.  Emerson  is  a  better  teacher 
for  not  trying  to  do  too  many  things/7  Mrs. 
Duwell  added. 

"I  think  a  carpenter  is  wonderful,  don7t  you?77 
said  Wallace. 

"The  greatest  man  that  ever  lived  was  a  car- 
penter/7 said  his  mother. 

"Whoa,  boy ! 77  exclaimed  Mr.  Duwell,  drawing 
up  the  reins  sharply.  "Don't  get  frightened  at 
a  piece  of  paper,  when  you've  done  so  well.  Whoa, 
there,  boy!77 

The  horse  seemed  to  understand  the  quiet 
gentle  voice,  and  settled  down  to  an  even  trot. 

"He  will  go  well  enough  now/7  said  Mrs.  Du- 
well. "He  knows  we  are  headed  for  home.77 

"  So  we  are !  I  wish  we  were  headed  the  other 
way/7  said  Wallace.  "What  makes  a  good  time 
so  short?77  he  asked,  so  seriously  that  everybody 
laughed. 

162 


IV.     The  Wolf's  Den 

"  Mother,  I  may  be  late  in  getting  home  from 
school  this  afternoon/7  said  Wallace  on  Monday 
at  noon.  "Mr.  Emerson  said  he  was  going  to 
take  us  for  a  walk  after  school  to-day.  He  told 
us  to  ask  if  it  would  be  all  right.  Will  it, 
mother  ?" 

"Yes,  Wallace,  but  try  to  be  home  before 
dark." 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  our  -trip  at  supper 
time,"  said  Wallace.  "Good-by." 

Wallace  bounded  in  just  as  supper  was  being 
put  on  the  table. 

"  Good  evening,  everybody.  Oh,  it  was  fine ! " 
he  exclaimed.  "Mr.  Emerson  took  us  for  a  long 
walk  in  the  park — to  a  part  I  have  never  seen 
before." 

"That  was  splendid,"  said  his  mother. 

"Now,  tell  us  all  about  your  trip,"  said  his 
father,  when  Wallace  had  partly  satisfied  his 
hunger. 

Wallace  began:  "We  walked  until  we  reached 
the  wild  part  of  the  park.  Soon  we  came  to  a 
steep  hill  and  a  great  pile  of  high  rocks  covered 
with  trees  and  bushes. 

" '  How  many  of  you  boys  have  ever  been  in  a 

163 


real  cave?'  Mr.  Emerson  asked.  Only  three  of 
us  had,  and  we  were  very  much  excited. 

"'Well/  he  said,  'right  above  that  big  granite 
rock  there  is  a  natural  cave.  It  was  found  only 
a  few  days  ago.  The  opening  was  covered  with 
bushes,  so  nobody  knew  it  was  there.  It'  must 
have  been  the  den  of  some  wild  animal  years  ago. 
The  opening  is  so  small  that  only  one  boy  can  go 
in  at  a  time/ 

"He  divided  us  into  four  sections  and  made  me 
the  leader  of  section  one. 

"One  at  a  time  we  climbed  up  until  all  five 
boys  of  my  section  were  on  top  of  the  rock.  There 
was  the  cave,  a  dark  opening  in  the  rocks  about 
as  big  around  as  a  barrel.  Being  the  leader,  I 
had  to  go  in  first. " 

"Weren't  you  scared?"  asked  Ruth. 

"Well — it  was  exciting/'  admitted  her  brother. 
"I  got  down  on  my  hands  and  knees  and  looked 
in,  but  could  see  nothing.  Then  I  crawled  in. 
It  was  as  dark  as  a  pocket.  I  tried  to  stand  up 
and  bumped  my  head,  the  ceiling  was  so  low. 

"In  a  minute  or  two  I  could  see  better.  The 
walls  of  the  cave  were  nothing  but  rocks.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  sand  and  dry  leaves.  There 
was  just  room  enough  to  turn  around  in,  so  I 
turned  around  and  crawled  out." 

164 


"Well,  I  call  that  pretty  brave,  Wallace,  to  go 
in  first,"  his  mother  said. 

"  There  wasn't  anything  to  be  afraid  of, 
mother/'  said  Wallace.  After  a  moment  he  con- 
tinued, "Well,  after  the  boys  in  my  group  had 
all  been  in,  we  climbed  down,  and  the  other  sec- 
tions went  up  and  did  the  same  thing.  Every 
boy  went  in,  although  some  of  the  little  fellows 
looked  pretty  white  when  they  came  out.  Then 
we  sat  on  the  rocks,  and  Mr.  Emerson  talked 
about  the  homes  of  wild  animals  and  the  early 
savages. 

" '  What  animal  do  you  suppose  lived  in  this 
cave?'  Mr.  Emerson  asked  us.  Some  guessed 
wolves  and  some,  bears.  We  finally  decided  to 
name  it  The  Wolf's  Den. 

V.     The  Cave  Dwellers 

"Mr.  Emerson  said  that  wild  animals  live  in 
just  the  same  way  to-day  as  they  always  did. 
They  live  in  caves  and  holes  in  the  ground  or 
in  hollow  trees,  where  they  can  hide  and  keep 
warm. 

"One  boy  spoke  up,  'How  about  dogs,  Mr. 
Emerson?' 

" '  Well,'  Mr.  Emerson  said, '  dogs  are  tame  ani- 
mals now,  although  they  used  to  be  wild.  But 

165 


even  the  dog  ?s  house  is  a  wooden  cave  which  his 
master  builds  for  him. ' 

"He  told  us  that  a  long  time  ago  people  lived 
in  caves  which  they  dug  in  the  earth  like  animals. 
They  were  cave  dwellers  or  cave  men.  The  reason 
we  have  better  homes  now  is  that  we  have 
greater  minds  than  animals  and  have  learned  to 
use  our  hands  and  brains  to  build  houses. 

"He  said  that  the  cave  men  must  have  thought 
it  wonderful  when  they  found  they  could  make 
stone  hatchets  sharp  enough  to  cut  down  small 
trees.  With  them  they  learned  to  make  huts  out  of 
wood,  which  were  larger  and  more  comfortable 
than  caves  and  just  as  safe  from  storms. 

"As  time  went  on,  men  paid  more  attention 
to  building.  They  learned  to  make  houses  of 
stone  and  clay  and  brick.  They  kept  on  study- 
ing and  improving  until  they  were  able  to  build 
great  cities  such  as  we  have  to-day." 

"Listen ! "  exclaimed  Ruth,  clapping  her  hands 
as  Wallace  finished  his  story.  "Wouldn't  Wal- 
lace make  a  good  teacher !  That  sounded  exactly 
like  the  way  Mr.  Emerson  talks." 

"Nothing  like  so  interesting,  though,"  said 
Wallace.  "He  promised  to  show  us  his  new 
house  when  it  is  finished." 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to  go  with  you !"  said  Ruth. 

166 


QUESTIONS 

Are  there  any  houses  being  built  near  you? 

Have  you  ever  watched  the  carpenter  at  work? 

Tell  about  some  of  his  tools. 

In  the  early  days  in  this  country  men  had  to  build  their 
own  houses.  Were  these  log  cabins  as  comfortable  and  well 
built  as  our  houses  .are  to-day? 

How  is  it  that  the  carpenter  can  do  so  much  better  work 
than  you  could? 

Where  does  the  carpenter  get  his  lumber? 

Have  you  ever  visited  a  sawmill? 

Wouldn't  you  like  to  ask  at  the  library  for  some  books 
that  tell  about  cave  men  and  cliff  dwellers?  about 
lumbering? 


167 


THE  BRICKLAYER 

I.     The  Fallen  Chimney 

All  day  long  the  rain  came  pouring  down.  By 
night  the  wind  rose  with  a  shriek  and  a  roar, 
banging  unfastened  shutters  and  rattling  win- 
dows in  their  casings. 

"Oh,  dear,  what  an  awful  night !"  exclaimed 
Ruth.  "How  glad  I  am  that  Fluffy  is  safe  in- 
doors!" and  she  stroked  the  little  cat  lying  on  a 
cushion  on  the  sewing  machine. 

"And  how  glad  I  am  that  Harry  Teelow  found 
that  lost  puppy  to-day/7  said  Wallace. 

"Pretty  bad,  isn't  it?"  Mr.  Duwell  said,  look- 
ing up  from  his  paper.  "I  don't  suppose  the 
bricklayer  came  to  mend  the  chimney  to-day. 
He  couldn't  have  worked  in  such  a  storm." 

"No,  he  did  not  come,"  replied  Mrs.  Duwell 
with  a  troubled  look.  "Do  you  suppose  there 
is  any  danger  of  its  tumbling  down?" 

"Well,  I  can't  say,"  replied  Mr.  Duwell,  shak- 
ing his  head  doubtfully.  "I  wish  I  had  stopped 
to  see  Mr.  Bricklayer  a  week  ago  when  I  first 
discovered  how  loose  the  bricks  were,  instead  of 
waiting  until— 

But  he  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  bang! 
even  above  the  terrific  noise  of  the  storm 

168 


came  the  sound  of  falling  bricks  and  broken 
glass. 

The  family  rushed  into  the  little  kitchen,  which 
was  built  on  the  end  of  the  house. 

What  a  sight  met  their  eyes ! 

Water  was  pouring  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling 
where  the  roof  had  given  way.  Rain  splashed 
in  great  gusty  dashes  through  the  window  where 
the  bricks  had  broken  through. 

Already  there  was  a  little  lake  on  the  floor. 

Ruth  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  If  it  keeps  on/' 
she  said,  half  laughing  and  half  crying,  "it  will 
be  quite  deep  enough  for  Alice  -and  the  mouse  and 
the  Dodo  to  swim  in!"  She  was  thinking  of 
Alice  in  Wonderland,  you  know. 

That  made  everybody  laugh,  and  all  began  to 
work.  They  placed  tubs  and  pails  where  they 
would  catch  the  water  and  stuffed  old  cloths 
into  the  broken  window  panes. 

It  was  fully  an  hour  before  the  family  were 
settled  down  again  in  the  living  room. 

"Well,  children,  you  can  now  understand 
the  saying,  '  Never  put  off  till  to-morrow 
what  should  be  done  to-day,'"  remarked  Mr, 
Duwell. 

"It  is  a  lesson  none  of  us  will  soon  forget," 
added  Mrs.  Duwell. 

169 


170 


THIS    PICTURE    SHOWS    A    CLAY   PIT,  A   KILN,  BRICKMAKERS,  BRICK    ROADWAY, 
CULVERT,    CHIMNEY,    BRIDGE,   MEN    LAYING    BRICKS. 

171 


"Could  you  and  I  have  mended  the  broken 
chimney,  father?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Not  very  well,  my  boy,"  replied  Mr.  Duwell. 
"'Every  man  to  his  trade/  you  know.  By  the 
way,  I  hope  Mr.  Bricklayer  will  be  here  before  you 
children  start  to  school  in  the  morning.  Run  to 
bed  now  so  that  you  can  be  up  early  to  see  him 
begin  his  work." 

H.     The  Bricklayer 

The  next  day  dawned  bright  and  sunny,  with 
only  a  merry  little  breeze  to  remind  one  of  yester- 
day's storm. 

The  bricklayer  did  not  come  before  the  children 
started  to  school  in  the  morning,  but  just  after 
lunch.  They  had  only  time  to  watch  him  and 
his  helper  climb  to  the  roof. 

"I  am  going  to  get  home  from  school  early," 
said  Wallace;  "maybe  they  will  not  be  through 
by  that  time." 

' ' I  am,  too/ '  Ruth  chimed  in.  "I  wonder  what 
bricks  are,"  she  added. 

"Bricks?  Why,  don't  you  know?"  asked  Wal- 
lace. "  Our  manual  training  teacher  told  us  that 
bricks  are  a  sort  of  imitation  stone  made  of 
moistened  clay  and  sand  mixed  together,  and 
shaped  as  we  see  them.  They  are  baked  in  an 

172 


oven-like  place,  called  a  kiln,  or  dried  in  the 
sun." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  that.  I  wonder  who  first 
thought  of  making  them.  They  are  something 
like  sun-baked  mud-pies,"  said  Ruth. 

"Our  teacher  said  that  bricks  three  thousand 
years  old  have  been  found  in  Egypt,  some  with 
writing  on  them." 

"Oh,  I  remember  that  the  Bible  tells  about 
bricks.  Why,  Wallace,  men  must  have  been 
bricklayers  for  thousands  of  years !" 

"It  is  lucky  for  us  they  haven't  forgotten  how 
to  make  them,  for  what  could  we  do  without 
a  chimney?"  said  Wallace.  "Hello,  there  is 
Harry !  I  want  to  see  him  about  the  ball  game;" 
and  away  he  ran. 

III.     After  School 

Wallace  brought  Harry,  and  Ruth  brought 
Mildred  Maydole  home  after  school  to  watch 
the  bricklayer  work. 

"Why,  how  straight  and  true  the  bricks  must 
be ! "  exclaimed  Harry.  "A  bricklayer  has  to  be 
very  careful,  doesn't  he?" 

"Indeed  he  does,"  replied  Wallace.  "Do  you 
know  what  the  mortar  is  made  of?" 

"Yes ;  I  think  I  do.     It  is  lime  and  sand  and— 

173 


something  else/'  Harry  said.  That  made  them 
all  laugh. 

"I  think  the  most  wonderful  brick  work  I  ever 
saw/'  said  Mildred,  "was  in  the  arch  of  a  big 
sewer.  I  couldn't  tell  why  the  bricks  didn't 
all  fall  down.  My  father  said  the  mortar  held 
them." 

"  Why,  if  it  weren't  for  bricklayers,  and  cement 
workers,  and  stone  masons,  we  should  be  without 
lots  of  things ! ' '  exclaimed  Harry.  ' '  Just  imagine 
it,  if  you  can." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Wallace.  "  Let's  count  what 
we  know  of  that  they  build  for  us — sewers,  bridge 
piers, — go  on,  Mildred." 

" Pavements,"  added  Mildred. 

"Houses  and  chimneys,"  said  Ruth. 

"Foundations  for  houses,"  said  Harry. 

"Here  comes  father!"  cried  Ruth  suddenly; 
and  all  the  children  ran  to  meet  him. 

"We've  been  talking  about  how  it  would 
be  if  there  were  no  bricklayers,  or  stone 
masons,  or  cement  workers,  father,"  said  Wal- 
lace. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Mr.  Duwell.  "I 
was  thinking  very  much  the  same  thing  as  I 
walked  home  so  soon  after  such  a  heavy  rain 
without  getting  my  feet  wet. 

174 


"I  remember  what  Benjamin  Franklin  wrote, " 
he  went  on,  "  about  the  streets  of  Philadelphia 
in  his  day.  He  said  the  mud  after  a  storm  was 
so  deep  that  it  came  above  the  people's  shoe- 
tops.  It  was  Benjamin  Franklin  himself  who 
first  talked  of  paving  the  streets." 

"I'm  glad  they  aren't  as  bad  as  they  were  in 
Benjamin  Franklin's  time,"  said  Mildred. 


QUESTIONS 

Have  you  ever  watched  a  bricklayer  working? 
What  was  he  doing? 
Could  you  have  done  it  ? 
Where  do  you  suppose  he  got  his  bricks? 
Have  you  ever  seen  bricks  being  made? 
Are  bricklayers,  cement  workers,  and  stone  masons  more 
needed  in  the  city  or  in  the  country?     Why? 


Do  you  know  how  our  city  grew, 

Its  lofty  buildings  raising? 
Its  pavements,  parks,  and  bridges,  too— 

Whose  labors  are  they  praising? 
Just  the  workmen  who  every  day 
Did  their  work  in  the  very  best  way. 


175 


THE  PLUMBER,  THE  PLASTERER, 

THE  PAINTER 
I.     A  Visit  to  a  Little  Town 

"I  have  an  errand  to  do  just  outside  the  city 
limits/'  said  Mr.  Duwell  one  pleasant  Saturday 
morning.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  with  me,  Wal- 
lace?" 

"I  certainly  should,"  said  the  boy. 

In  a  few  minutes  father  and  son  were  on  the 
electric  car,  speeding  toward  Oldtown. 

When  there,  they  walked  up  the  main  street, 
which  was  lined  with  rows  of  shabby  houses, 
badly  in  need  of  paint.  Little  pools  of  standing 
water  lay  in  the  gutters. 

' i  What  an  awful  smell !   I  should  think  it  would 

176 


make  people  sick!  And  look  at  the  flies !"  ex- 
claimed Wallace. 

"I  have  no  doubt  it  does  make  people  sick," 
said  Mr.  Duwell.  "  Flies  and  mosquitoes  breed 
very  rapidly  in  such  places." 

"  Flies  and  mosquitoes  carry  disease  germs, 
Mr.  Emerson  says,"  observed  Wallace. 

"So  they  do;  they  are  more  dangerous 
to  health  than  poi-son-ous  snakes,"  his  father 
said. 

"Why  don't  the  people  clean  their  gutters?" 
asked  Wallace. 

"I  suppose  they  do  sometimes,"  replied  his 
father;  "but  Oldtown  will  never  be  clean  and 
healthy  while  the  dirty  water  from  the  houses  is 
drained  into  the  streets  and  alleys.  Waste  water 
must  be  carried  off  by  means  of  pipes  into  a  sewer. 
That  is  the  work  of  the  plumber.  A  good 
plumber  is  a  health  officer." 

"What  a  lot  of  people  it  takes  to  keep  things 
going  right,  father!  This  town  certainly  does 
need  a  plumber,"  remarked  Wallace. 

This  remark  seemed  to  please  Mr.  Duwel1  very 
much. 

"How  would  you  like  to  move  to  Oldtown, 
Wallace?  "  asked  his  father  when  their  errand  was 
finished  and  they  were  riding  home. 

12  177 


"I  shouldn't  mind/'  said  Wallace,  "if  I  were  a 
plumber." 


II.    At  Home 

When  Ruth  saw  them  coming,  she  ran  to  meet 
them. 

"What  do  you  think,  father!"  she  exclaimed ; 
"the  plasterer  came  while  you  were  gone,  and 
mended  the  kitchen  ceiling.  Mother  is  so  pleased ! 
Come  and  look  at  it !" 

"That's  very  well  done,"  said  Mr.  Duwell, 
examining  the  neat  patch  over  the  large  hole 
which  the  falling  chimney  had  made.  "But 
it  makes  the  whole  room  look  as  if  it  needed 
a  new  coat  of  paint.  What  do  you  think, 
mother?" 

"I  think  it  would  make  me  a  better  cook  to 
have  a  nice  clean  kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell. 
smiling. 

"You  couldn't  be  a  better  cook,  mother!" 
Wallace  said,  eyeing  the  good  meal  which  was 
ready  to  be  put  on  the  dining  table. 

"That  is  what  we  all  think,  Wallace,"  said  his 
father;  "and  we  think,  too,  that  such  a  good  cook 
deserves  a  better  kitchen.  So  on  Monday  I  will 
ask  the  painter  to  see  about  doing  the  walls  and 
woodwork. ' ' 

178 


III.     The  'New  Kitchen 

When  the  men  had  finished  their  work  the 
kitchen  was  so  changed  that  it  scarcely  knew 
itself,  as  Wallace  said. 

Instead  of  dim  walls  and  dull-gray  paint, 
everything  was  white  and  blue.  A  shining  white 
sink  with  two  bright  nickel  spigots  was  standing 
proudly  in  one  corner  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Duwell  had  just  finished  hanging  a  white 
dotted  muslin  curtain  at  the  window  over  the 
sink  when  Ruth  entered. 

"Oh,  mother,  doesn't  that  look  lovely!''  she 
exclaimed. 

"I  thought  such  a  bright  clean  kitchen  deserved 
a  clean  new  curtain/7  said  her  mother. 

"  Isn't  the  kitchen  beautiful ! "  Ruth  went  on. 
"It  seems  like  living  in  a  fairy  tale — as  though 
we  had  wakened  up  to  find  things  changed  by 
magic." 

"It  does,  in  a  way/'  agreed  her  mother;  "but, 
really,  they  were  every-day  fairies  who  brought 
about  these  changes  and  turned  ugliness  into 
beauty." 

"I  think  I  know  their  names,"  Ruth  said, 
laughing;  "Mr.  Plumber,  Mr.  Plasterer,  and  Mr. 
Painter." 

Why,  how  did  you  guess?"  said  her  mother. 

179 


u 


QUESTIONS 

Did  the  plumber  ever  come  to  your  house? 

What  did  he  do? 

What  would  have  happened  if  you  could  not  have  found  a 
plumber? 

None  of  us  would  like  to  live  in  a  town  where  there  are  no 
plumbers.  Why  not? 

Shut  your  eyes  and  try  to  imagine  how  the  Duwell 
family's  kitchen  looked  before  the  workmen  began  to  work; 
now  imagine  that  they  have  finished  their  work.  Tell  how 
different  it  looks. 

Have  workmen  ever  made  such  changes  in  your  home? 

Can  you  name  some  other  people  besides  the  carpenter, 
the  bricklayer,  the  plumber,  the  plasterer,  and  the  painter 
who*  help  give  us  shelter? 


STORIES   ABOUT  PEOPLE  WHO  SUPPLY 
US  WITH  FUEL 


THE  COAL  MAN  AND  THE  MINER 
I.     Black  Diamonds 

"How  are  the 
black  diamonds 
holding    out, 
Wallace?  "asked 
Mrs.    Duwell. 
Wallace  had  just 
brought  up  coal 
from  the  cellar. 
Only    a    few    more 
scuttlefuls  in  the  bin,  mother,"  answered 
Wallace. 

"On  your  way  from  school  you  may  stop  at 

the  coal  yard  and  ask  Mr. 
Carr  to  send  a  ton  to- 
morrow." 

"All  right,  mother, 
I  won't  forget.    But 
tell    me,    why    do 
they  call  coal  black 
diamonds?" 
"I haven't  time 


to  talk  about  it  now.  Perhaps  Mr.  Carr  will 
tell  you.  You  have  just  ten  minutes  to  get  \to 
school." 

On  his  way  home  Wallace  stepped  into  the 
little  office  of  the  big  coal  yard. 

"How  are  you,  my  boy ;  what  can  I  do  for  you 
to-day?"  asked  Mr.  Carr,  who  was  a  rather  tall 
man  with  a  bent  back  and  one  shoulder  higher 
than  the  other. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Carr? "  replied  Wallace. 
"Mother  wants  you  to  send  a  ton  of  coal  to-mor- 
row— the  same  kind  as  the  last  you  sent." 

Wallace  waited  until  the  coal  man  entered  the 
order  in  the  book  and  then  asked,  "Mr.  Carr,  will 
you  tell  me  why  they  call  coal  black  diamonds?' 

Mr.  Carr  smiled  pleasantly.  "Certainly,  son, 
certainly.  You  see,  coal  shines  like  diamonds, 
and  then,  it's  worth  more." 

"Worth  more?  Why,  I  thought  diamonds 
were  worth  more  than  anything  else." 

"  No,  indeed !  If  there  weren't  any  coal  in  the 
ground,  all  the  diamonds  in  the  world  wouldn't 
heat  a  house,  cook  a  meal,  pull  a  railway  train, 
or  run  a  machine." 

"Well,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Wallace. 
"You  certainly  could  not  burn  diamonds  in  a 
cook-stove." 

182 


it 


No,   indeed !"   said  Mr.  Carr,  who  seemed 
much  pleased  at  Wallace's  interest. 

II.     In  a  Coal  Mine 

"Were  you  ever  down  iri  a  coal  mine,  Mr. 
Carr?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Was  I  ever  down  in  a  coal  mine?"  repeated 
Mr.  Carr.  "Yes,  sir,  I  was  a  miner  for  years 
in  the  coal  regions,  and  would  have  been  in  a 
mine  yet,  probably,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  this," 
pointing  to  his  shoulder  and  bent  back. 

"Is  it  very  dangerous  work?"  asked  Wallace, 
with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Well,  if  the  roof  doesn't  fall  on  you,  and  if 
the  mine  doesn't  catch  fire,  and  if  the  gas  doesn't 
choke  you,  or  explode  and  blow  you  up,  it  isn't 
dangerous;  it  is  perfectly  safe." 

"But  how  did  it  get  hurt — your  shoulder,  I 
mean?"  asked  Wallace. 

"Oh,  that!  I'll  tell  you.  One  day  we  were 
getting  out  coal  at  the  far  end  of  a  tunnel.  Sud- 
denly, before  we  had  time  to  run,  the  roof  came 
tumbling  down  and  buried  us.  When  they  pulled 
us  out,  my  helper  was  dead,  and  my  back  was 
as  you  see  it  now." 

"What  makes  mining  so  dangerous?"  asked 
Wallace,  in  surprise. 

183 


u 


Well,  you  see,  it's  this  way.  When  you  step 
into  the  cage,  that  is  the  elevator,  you  leave  the 
sunlight  behind.  The  cage  sinks  down,  down 
into  pitch  darkness,  sometimes  hundreds  of 
feet.  At  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  it  is  like  an 
under-ground  city.  Street-like  tunnels,  with 
car  tracks  laid  on  them,  run  out  in  every 
direction.  The  coal  cars  are  drawn  by  mules 
or  by  electricity. 

"  As  you  go  up  the  tracks  you  see  cross  tunnels 
and  the  miners'  little  lamps  shining  in  dark  holes 
that  look  like  black  caves.  Here  the  miners 
work,  blasting  out  the  coal,  and  loading  it  on 
cars  to  be  drawn  to  the  mouth  of  the  mine  and 
hoisted  up  into  daylight. 

"  Sometimes  the  walls  and  roof  are  not  properly 
braced.  Then  they  cave  in  and  great  lumps  of 
coal  fall  down  on  the  men.  Sometimes  gas  or 
fire-damp  collects.  Then  there  is  danger  of  chok- 
ing or  of  being  blown  up.  Sometimes,  in  blast- 
ing, the  coal  catches  fire,  so  that  the  whole  mine 
burns. " 

"Why,  miners  must  be  as  brave  as  soldiers/7 
said  Wallace. 

' '  Yes,  I  suppose  they  are  brave.  People  do  not 
know  how  much  they  owe  to  the  miners.  They 
risk  their  lives  every  time  they  go  down  into 

184 


CAN  YOU   TELL  A   STORY  ABOUT  THE   JOURNEY   OF    A    TON    OF    COAL    FROM 
THE   TIME   THE   MINER  DIGS  IT  OUT  OF  THE   MINE,    AND   BOYS   SORT    OUT    THE 

SLATE,  UNTIL'  IT  is  PUT  INTO  THE  FURNACE  IN  A  HOUSE  ? 


185 


the  mines.  But  they  don't  think  much  about 
the  danger.  That  is  part  of  their  work."' 

" Thank  you  for  telling  me  about  it,"  said 
Wallace. 

"  You  are  welcome,  my  boy;  good-by." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Carr." 

Wallace  hurried  home  with  a  new  respect  for 
Mr.  Carr  and  the  men  who  work  in  the  dark 
mines  under  the  ground. 

QUESTIONS 

How  does  the  coal  man  bring  the  coal  to  your  house? 

From  whom  does  he  buy  it  ? 

Pretend  you  are  a  piece  of  coal  and  tell  the  story  of  your 
life. 

Name  some  of  the  things  which  we  would  have  to  do 
without  if  there  were  no  miners  or  coal  men. 

Do  you  burn  anything  else  at  your  house  besides  coal  ? 

Are  the  men  who  supply  us  with  these  things  our  helpers 
too? 

Where  does  the  wood  man  get  kindling  and  firewood? 

Where  does  the  oil  man  get  oil? 

Will  you  ask  for  a  book  about  pe-tro'le-um,  or  coal  oil, 
when  you  go  to  the  library  next  time? 

Can  you  think  of  any  other  people  who  supply  us  with 
fuel? 


186 


STORIES  ABOUT  PEOPLE  WHO  CARE 
FOR  OUR  HEALTH 


THE  DENTIST 
I.    Why  Ruth  Was  Afraid 

"Oh,  dear  I1'  sobbed  Ruth.  "0— h,  dear!" 
She  was  sitting  in  her  little  rocking-chair  in 
the  living-room. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Wallace, 
coming  in  to  look  for  his  books.  "Are  you 
hurt?" 

"No;"  Ruth  shook  her  head. 

187 


'Well,  then,  what  is  it?' 

"Oh,  Wallace,  I  am  so  afraid  I'm  going  to  be 
hurt.  Mother  says  there  is  a  dark  spot  on  one  of 
my  teeth.  She  is  getting  ready  to  take  me  to 
Doctor  Harrison's.  I  have  never  had  a  tooth 
filled." 

"Well,  of  all  the  silly  things  I  ever  heard  of/' 
exclaimed  Wallace,  "that's  the  silliest!  Wha/t 
makes  you  think  the  dentist  will  hurt  you?" 

Ruth  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Haven't  you  ever  heard  the  boys  and  girls 
talk  of  how  they  were  hurt  when  they  had  teeth 
filled?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  have  heard  some  boys  talk,"  Wallace 
admitted;  "but  they  were  boys  who  never  cleaned 
their  teeth— 

"And  who  did  not  see  a  dentist  until  they  had 
a  toothache,"  added  Mrs.  Duwell,  overhearing 
Wallace's  remark  as  she  entered  the  room. 

"What,  crying?"  she  asked,  noticing  Ruth's 
swollen  eye-lids.  "Why,  my  dear  little  girl,  the 
dentist  is  one  of  your  best  friends." 

"I  guess  some  of  the  girls  and  boys  would  like 
him  better  if  he  didn't  hurt  them  so  much, 
mother,"  said  Ruth. 

"That  isn't  the  dentist's  fault,  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Duwell.  "If  boys  and  girls  had  their  teeth 

188 


examined  once  or  twice  a  year,  the  dentist  would 
catch  the  trouble  in  time  and  save  them  much 
pain." 

"I  don't  suppose  dentists  ever  want  to  hurt 
anyone,"  Ruth  said. 

"No,  indeed.  I  think  they  are  very  kind  to  be 
willing  to  do  so  in  order  to  save  teeth.  It  is 
dreadful  to  have  bad  teeth.  Nothing  tastes  just 
right ;  and  worse  than  that,  bad  teeth  mean  bad 
health.  Good  teeth  are  a  grist  mill  to  grind  our 
food.  Without  good  teeth  we  cannot  have  good 
health." 

"That  is  so,"  said  Wallace.  "Even  horses 
aren't  worth  much  after  their  teeth  are  gone." 

"Why  can't  they  wear  false  ones?"  asked  Ruth 
with  such  seriousness  that  Wallace  burst  out 
laughing. 

"I  wish  they  could,  poor  things,"  said  her 
mother;  "but  come,  dear,  we  must  start." 


II.     At  the  Dentist's 

"Ah,  here  is  a  little  girl  whose  mouth  looks  as 
though  she  brushed  her  teeth  regularly,"  said 
Doctor  Harrison,  as  he  raised  the  big  comfortable 
arm  chair  in  which  Ruth  was  sitting. 

"She  certainly  is  good  about  that,  doctor," 
said  Mrs.  Duwell. 

"Even  so,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  think  I  shall 
give  her  one  of  my  little  picture  cards." 

Ruth  looked  so  pleased  that  he  handed  her 
two. 

"One  is  for  Wallace,"  Ruth  said. 

"That  picture  is  to  remind  forgetful  children," 
said  the  doctor.  ' '  Now  let  us  look  at  the  twenty- 
odd  pearls  in  your  mouth,  little  girl." 

"Oh,  Wallace,  Doctor  Harrison  didn't  hurt 
me  a  bit,"  cried  Ruth,  running  into  the  living- 
room  after  they  had  reached  home.  "He  said 
that  he  didn't  often  hurt  people  who  came 
to  him  in  time.  Here  is  a  card  he  gave  me 
for  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Wallace,  looking  at  the 
card.  "Oh,  it's  to  remind  me  to  brush  my  teeth. 
I  wonder  if  he  thought  I  needed  it." 

"No,  Doctor  Harrison  didn't  say  that,  Wal- 
lace; but  he  did  say  that  we  wouldn't  want  to 

190 


eat  anything  with  dirty 
hands,  and  that  really 
dirty  teeth  are  worse 
than  dirty  hands. " 


QUESTIONS 

Do  you  have  your  teeth  examined  once  or  twice  a  year? 

The  dentist  is  one  of  your  best  friends.     Why? 

Do  you  think  that  the  people  in  the  United  States  would 
be  as  well  as  they  are,  if  there  were  no  dentists?  Why  not  ? 

Suppose  you  had  a  toothache  and  there  was  no  dentist  to 
whom  you  could  go.  What  would  happen? 

Aren't  you  glad  that  there  are  men  who  have  studied,  so 
that  they  can  help  you  take  care  of  your  teeth? 


Suppose  we  children  had  to  live 
Without  the  help  of  others— 

I  mean,  suppose  we  had  to  grow 
Without  the  help  of  mothers ; 

Suppose  there  were  no  groceryman, 
No  milkman,  doctor,  baker, 

No  tailor  who  could  make  our  coats, 
And  there  were  no  dressmaker ; 

Suppose  no  people  ever  did 
The  things  that  they  could  do 

To  help  each  other  in  this  world— 
I  wouldn't  want  to  live,  would  you? 

191 


THE  DRUGGIST,  THE  NURSE,  AND  THE 

DOCTOR 
I.     The  Sick  Baby 

"Ruth,  I  wish  you  would  stop  at  Doctor  Mar- 
cy's  office  on  your  way  to  school/'  said  Mrs.  Du- 

192 


well  a  few  days  later,  "and  ask  him  to  come  to  see 
the  baby.  The  little  thing  has  a  high  fever/7 

"Oh,  dear,  I  hope  baby  won't  be  sick!"  ex- 
claimed Ruth,  kissing  her  mother  good-by. 

All  the  morning  she  remembered  her  mother's 
troubled  look.  At  noon  she  did  not  stop  to  talk 
with  the  girls,  but  hurried  home  as  fast  as  she 
could. 

Wallace  was  there  before  her,  though,  having 
run  all  the  way.  He  met  her  at  the  door. 

"Ruth,"  he  whispered,  "I  met  Doctor  Marcy 
as  he  came  out,  and  he  says  that  the  baby  has 
pneumonia,*  and  it  is  a  bad  case.  Mother 
doesn't  know  I  am  home.  Can't  we  get  some 
lunch  ready  to  take  to  her?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Ruth,  tiptoeing  into 
the  kitchen.  "You  put  the  kettle  on  the  fire 
and  I'll  make  some  tea  and  milk  toast." 

Mrs.  Duwell  looked  very  pale  and  weary  when 
the  children  appeared  with  the  lunch  tray. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  home,  Ruth,"  she 
whispered,  stepping  into  the  hall.  ' '  How  quietly 
you  must  have  worked,  children." 

"Is  there  anything  else  we  can  do  to  help?" 
asked  Wallace. 

"Why,  yes,  there  is,  Wallace.     You  may  take 

*  Pronounced  nu-mo'n?-a. 

193 


this  pre-scrip-tion  to  the  drug  store  to  be  filled. 
Ask  the  druggist  to  send  the  medicine  over  as 
soon  as  possible. " 

Just  then  the  baby  gave  a  pitiful  little  moan, 
which  made  the  mother  turn  again  to  the  crib. 
The  children  stole  softly  downstairs. 


"I'll  run  right  over  to  the  drug  store,  Ruth," 
Wallace  said,  forgetting  his  own  lunch. 

II.     The  Druggist 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Jones/'  he  said  breath- 
lessly as  he  entered  the  store.  "Baby  is  very  ill, 
and  mother  wishes  this  prescription  filled.  She 

194 


told  me  to  ask  if  you  would  please  send  the  medi- 
cine over  just  as  soon  as  possible. " 

"Baby  sick?  How  sorry  I  am,  Wallace/'  said 
Mr.  Jones.  "Of  course  we  will  send  it  soon.  I 
will  see  to  it  at  once.7' 

"Oh,  thank  you."  Wallace  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "How  much  will  it  be,  please?" 

The  druggist  examined  the  queer  Latin  words 
of  the  doctor's  prescription.  "This  calls  for  one 
very  expensive  medicine,  Wallace,"  he  said;  "so 
we  shall  have  to  charge  seventy-five  cents." 

"That  will  be  all  right,"  said  Wallace. 

When  he  reached  home  Ruth  had  a  nice  lunch 
spread  for  him. 

"I  am  not  going  to  school  this  afternoon,  Wal- 
lace," she  told  him.  "I'm  going  to  tidy  up  the 
house,  and  help  mother." 

"Look  at  the  clock,  Ruth ! "  exclaimed  Wallace 
suddenly,  "'I  must  start  right  away — the  medi- 
cine will  be  seventy-five  cents." 

"I  will  have  the  money  ready,"  said  Ruth. 
"Good-by." 

The  druggist's  boy  came  with  the  medicine  a 
few  minutes  after  Wallace  left,  and  the  baby  was 
given  the  first  dose  at  once. 

When  their  father  came  the  children  had  supper 
ready,  but  no  one  ate  much. 

195 


"I  am  glad  you  can  be  so  helpful,  children/' 
he  said. 

III.     The  Trained  Nurse 

For  five  days  the  whole  family  did  everything 
they  knew  to  help  save  the  baby's  life.  Mr.  Du- 
well  was  worried  not  only  about  the  baby  but 
about  the  children's  mother. 

"I  agree  with  the  doctor  that  it  would  be 
much  wiser  to  have  a  trained  nurse/'  he  said  on 
Saturday  afternoon. 

"But  mother  cannot  bear  the  thought  of  let- 
ting anyone  else  take  care  of  the  baby/'  said 
Ruth. 

"I  know  that  mother  is  a  splendid  nurse," 
Mr.  Duwell  continued;  "but  a  trained  nurse 
knows  all  the  best  new  methods  of  nursing,  and 
could  give  much  relief  to  mother,  who  is  tired 
out." 

Just  then  the  bell  rang. 

"It  is  the  doctor,"  said  Ruth.  Mr.  Duwell 
went  to  the  door,  followed  by  the  little  girl. 

The  doctor  was  not  alone..  With  him  was  a 
young  lady.  Ruth  liked  her  at  once;  she  seemed 
so  quiet  and  strong,  and  looked  so  kind. 

"How  do  you  do,  sir?"  said  Doctor  Marcy  to 
Mr.  Duwell.  "This  is  Miss  Foster,  a  trained 

196 


Do  YOU  THINK  THIS  IS  THE  RIGHT  KIND  OF  BED  FOR  A  SICK  BABY?      WHY  NOT? 

197 


nurse.  I  am  taking  matters  in  my  own  hands, 
you  see.  That  good  wife  of  yours  is  entirely 
worn  out." 

"I  am  pleased  to  meet  Miss  Foster  and  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  her,  doc- 
tor," Mr.  Duwell  replied. 

"It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  very  best  thing  to  do. 
I  have  tried  to  persuade  Mrs.  Duwell  to  see 
things  that  way,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Oh,  come  upstairs,  doctor,"  called  Mrs.  Du- 
well, hearing  the  doctor's  voice ;  "I  think  baby  is 
scarcely  breathing." 

"Come,"  said  the  doctor  to  the  nurse,  leading 
the  way. 

Mrs.  Duwell  was  standing  near  the  crib  as 
they  entered. 

"This  is  the  nurse  I  was  talking  about,"  the 
doctor  said,  introducing  Miss  Foster,  and  turn- 
ing to  look  at  the  baby. 

"I  am  very  glad—  '  Mrs.  Duwell  started  to 
speak,  but  she  fainted  away  before  she  could 
finish  the  sentence. 

The  nurse  did  not  seem  frightened.  She  laid 
Mrs.  Duwell  flat  on  the  floor.  After  sprinkling 
cold  water  on  her  face,  she  held  some  smelling 
salts  to  her  nose. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Mrs.  Duwell  opened  her 

198 


eyes.  ' ' I  must  have  fainted, ' '  she  said ;  "I  am  so 
glad  you  were  here,  nurse.  Doctor,  how  is  baby  ?  " 

"  About  as  I  expected/'  the  doctor  replied. 
"I  believe  the  worst  will  be  over  to-night.  Now, 
I  want  you  to  take  this  medicine  which  Miss 
Foster  will  give  you,  and  lie  down  for  a  while. 
I  expect  to  come  back  about  ten  o'clock  to-night. 
Good-by;  please  obey  Miss  Foster's  orders,"  he 
added. 

"It  is  such  a  relief  to  my  mind,  doctor/'  said 
Mr.  Duwell,  meeting  him  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
"to  know  that  the  nurse  is  here." 

"It  is  a  relief,"  replied  the  doctor.  "If  the 
strain  had  kept  on  much  longer,  Mrs.  Duwell 
would  have  had  a  long  term  of  illness." 

IV.     The  Doctor,  a  Hero 

The  doctor  and  nurse  watched  by  the  baby's 
bedside  until  the  danger  was  passed.  Both  wore 
happy  smiles  when  the  doctor  assured  the  tired 
Duwell  family  that  the  baby  would  live. 

"Oh,  doctor,  money  cannot  pay  you  for  your 
kindness,"  said  Mrs.  Duwell.  "Through  rain 
and  snow  storms,  at  midnight  and  at  daybreak, 
you  have  come  to  help  us.  How  tired  you  must 
often  be." 

"It  is  true,  doctor/'  Mr.  Duwell  added;  "you 

199 


risk  your  life  as  willingly  as  a  soldier  does,  every 
time  you  go  into  danger." 

"We  doctors  don't  think  anything  about 
that,"  replied  Doctor  Marcy  modestly.  "We 
are  so  anxious  to  have  people  get  well." 

"Why,  doctors  are  heroes  like  soldiers!"  ex- 
claimed Wallace,  looking  at  the  doctor  with 
new  respect.  "I  never  thought  of  that  before !" 

"Nurses  are,  too,"  whispered  Ruth ;  but  Doctor 
Marcy  overheard. 

"That  is  right,  Ruth,"  he  said.  "Nurses  are, 
too." 

QUESTIONS 

The  Druggist 

How  long  does  a  druggist  have  to  study  in  order  to  fill 
prescriptions?  Would  it  be  safe  to  let  those  who  have  not 
studied  handle  medicines?  Why  not? 

How  near  is  a  drug  store  to  your  home  ?  Can  you  imagine 
how  it  would  be  to  live  ten  miles  from  a  drug  store? 

The  Nurse 

Can  you  give  some  reasons  why  a  trained  nurse  can  care 
for  a  sick  person  better  than  an  untrained  one? 

Do  you  know  any  trained  nurses? 

How  long  does  a  trained  nurse  study  before  graduation  ? 

The  Doctor 

Did  you  ever  need  a  doctor  at  your  house? 

How  did  you  let  him  know?     Did  he  come  quickly? 

What  might  have  happened  if  he  had  not  come? 

Pretend,  you  are  a  country  doctor  and  tell  about  some  of 
your  long  drives.  Do  you  think  doctors  are  heroes?  Why? 

200 


ONE  FOR  ALL  AND  ALL  FOR  ONE 

A  Play 
Parts  to  be  taken  by  Pupils 

Section  I  Section  II  Section  III 

Baker  Tailor  Bricklayer 

Milkman  Dressmaker  Carpenter 

Butcher  Shoemaker  Painter 

Grocer  Milliner  Plumber 

or  others  or  others  or  others 

who  supply  who  supply  who  supply 

food  clothing  shelter 

Section  IV  Section  V 

Coal  man  Doctor 

Miner  Druggist 

Wood  man  Nurse 

Oil  man  or  others 

or  others  who  help 

who  supply  keep  us 

fuel  well 

Teacher  to  Sec.  I.     What  do  you  do? 

Baker.     I  am  the  baker ;  I  bake  bread. 

Milkman.     I  am  the  milkman;   I  supply  the 
milk. 

Butcher.     I  am  the  butcher ;  I  supply  the  meat. 

Grocer.     I  am  the  grocer ;   I  sell  groceries. 

201 


Teacher.  Do  you  make  clothing  or  build 
houses? 

Baker.  No,  we  supply  food  for  all ;  that  is  our 
part. 

Teacher  to  Sec.  II.     What  do  you  do? 

Tailor.     I  am  the  tailor ;   I  make  the  clothing. 

Dressmaker.  I  am  the  dressmaker;  I  make 
dresses. 

Shoemaker.  I  am  the  shoemaker;  I  make 
shoes. 

Milliner.     I  am  the  milliner ;  I  make  the  hats. 

Teacher.     Do  you  supply  food  or  fuel? 

Tailor.  No,  we  make  clothing  for  all ;  that  is 
our  part. 

Teacher  to  Sec.  III.     What  do  you  do? 

Bricklayer.  I  am  the  bricklayer;  I  lay  the 
bricks. 

Carpenter.  I  am  the  carpenter;  I  build  the 
houses. 

Painter.     I  am  the  painter ;  I  paint  the  houses. 

Plumber.     I  am  the  plumber ;  I  fit  the  pipes. 

Teacher.  Do  you  make  clothes  or  attend  the 
sick? 

Bricklayer.  No,  we  build  houses  for  all;  that 
is  our  part. 

202 


Teacher  to  Sec.  IV.     And  what  do  you  do? 

Coal  man.  I  am  the  coal  man ;  I  deliver  the 
coal. 

Miner.     I  am  the  miner ;  I  dig  the  coal. 

Wood  man.  I  am  the  wood  man ;  I  cut  the 
wood. 

Oil  man.     I  am  the  oil  man ;  I  supply  oil. 

Teacher.     Do  you  supply  food  or  clothing? 

Coal  man.  No,  we  furnish  fuel ;  that  is  our 
part. 

Teacher  to  Sec.  V.     And  what  do  you  do? 

Doctor.     I  am  the  doctor ;  I  heal  the  sick. 

Druggist.     I  am  the  druggist ;  I  sell  medicines. 

Nurse.    I  am  the  nurse ;  I  help  the  doctor. 

Teacher.     Do  you  build  houses  or  furnish  fuel? 

Doctor.  No,  we  keep  people  well,  or  aid  them 
when  they  are  ill ;  that  is  our  part. 

All  recite: 

One  works  for  all  and  all  for  one, 

And  so  the  work  of  the  world  gets  done. 


203 


204 


205 


PART  m 

THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS 
Junior  Membership  and  School  Activities 


207 


THE  JUNIOR  RED  CROSS 

In  September,  1917,  President  Wilson  sent 
out  a  letter  from  the  White  House  in  Washing- 
ton to  the  school  children  of  the  United  States. 

He  told  them  that  the  President  of  the  United 
States  is  the  President  of  the  American  Red 
Cross,  and  he  said  that  the  Red  Cross  people 
wanted  the  children  to  help  them  in  their  work. 

Their  work,  you  know,  is  to  help  all  those 
who  are  suffering  or  in  need. 

Such  work  is  so  beautiful  that  it  is  really 
doing  golden  deeds. 

Now  read  for  yourself  this  letter  from  the 
President  of  the  United  States  which  belongs  to 
every  school  child  in  America. 


209 


A  PROCLAMATION 

To  the  School  Children  of  the  United  States: 

The  President  of  the  United  States  is  also  President  of 
the  American  Red  Cross.  It  is  from  these  offices  joined  in 
one  that  I  write  you  a  word  of  greeting  at  this  time  when  so 
many  of  you  are  beginning  the  school  year. 

The  American  Red  Cross  has  just  prepared  a  Junior 
Membership  with  School  Activities  in  which  every  pupil  in 
the  United  States  can  find  a  chance  to  serve  our  country. 
The  School  is  the  natural  center  of  your  life.  Through  it- 
you  can  best  work  in  the  great  cause  of  freedom  to  which  \ve 
have  all  pledged  ourselves. 

Our  Junior  Red  Cross  will  bring  to  you  opportunities  of 
service  to  your  community  and  to  other  communities  all 
over  the  world  and  guide  your  service  with  high  and  relig'ous 
ideals.  It  will  teach  you  how  to  save  in  order  that  suffering 
children  elsewhere  may  have  a  chance  to  live.  It  will  teach. 
you  how  to  prepare  some  of  the  supplies  which  wounded 
soldiers  and  homeless  families  lack.  It  will  send  to  you 
through  the  Red  Cross  Bulletins  the  thrilling  stories  of 
relief  and  rescue.  And  best  of  all,  more  perfectly  than 
through  any  of  your  other  school  lessons,  you  will  learn  by 
doing  those  kind  things  under  your  teacher's  direction  to  be 
future  good  citizens  of  this  great  country  which  we  all  love. 

And  I  commend  to  all  school  teachers  in  the  country  the 
simple  plan  which  the  American  Red  Cross  has  worked  out 
to  provide  for  your  cooperation,  knowing  as  I  do  that  school 
children  will  give  their  best  service  under  the  direct  guidance 
and  instruction  of  their  teachers.  Is  not  this  perhaps  the 
chance  for  which  you  have  been  looking  to  give  your  time 
and  efforts  in  some  measure  to  meet  our  national  needs? 

(Signed)     WOODROW  WILSON, 

President. 
September  15,  1917. 

•  210 


How  do  you  suppose  the  school  children  of  the  United 
States  felt  when  they  read  this  letter  from  the  President? 

It  is  a  wonderful  letter.  It  does  not  read  like  a  letter 
from  a  great  man  to  little  children. 

It  is  different  from  most  of  the  letters  which  grown 
people  write  to  children,  for  the  President  writes  to  the 
children  asking  for  their  help,  just  as  if  they  were  grown  up. 

Indeed,  when  the  grown  people  read  the  letter  they  wished 
that  they  could  be  school  children  again,  because  there 
was  no  Junior  Red  Cross  when  they  were  young,  and  they 
had  to  wait  to  grew  up  before  they  could  help  the  Red 
Cross  do  golden  deeds. 

You  see,  when  they  were  young,  everybody  thought, 
"  When  the  children  are  grown  up  they  will  help  us."  Then 
they  waited  for  them  to  grow. 

Are  you  not  glad  that  you  are  able,  while  a  child,  to  do 
helpful  work  for  your  country? 

Now  let  us  think  about  some  of  the  golden  deeds  which 
the  Red  Cross  does. 

THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS  IN 
TIMES  OF  PEACE 

Of  course,  in  times  of  war  the  Red  Cross  is 
very  busy  helping  the  soldiers,  but  do  you  think 
that  it  is  idle  in  times  of  peace? 

No,  indeed.  The  Red  Cross  is  always  listening 
for  a  call  of  distress,  and  is  ready  to  aid  any 
people  who  are  suffering. 

One  day  in   1912  the  Red  Cross  heard  the 

people  who  lived  along  the  banks  of  the  Missis- 

211 


sippi  River  calling  for  help,  for  the  river  had 
been  so  swollen  by  rains  that  it  had  risen  high 
and  overflowed  its  banks  in  a  dangerous  flood. 


Picture  from  o,  photograph 

Do  you  know  what  happens  during  a  flood? 

Name  all  the  different  things  you  see  on  the  little  island 
in  this  picture. 

Why  do  you  suppose  the  people  are  all  staying  there 
instead  of  rowing  off  in  the  boats? 

Because  they  are  expecting  the  relief  launch  of  the  Red 

212 


Cross  to  come  and  take  them  to  a  safe  place.  The  water 
is  flowing  too  swiftly  for  the  little  boats  to  cross  in  safety. 
They  would  probably  be  carried  against  a  tree  and  upset. 
Many  houses  have  been  carried  down  the  river  during 
this  flood,  so  you  can  understand  how  glad  the  people  will 
be  to  see  help  coming.  In  this  next  picture  you  will  see 
how  the  Red  Cross  answered  the  people's  cry  for  help. 


This  picture  shows  a  Carnegie  Library  which  was  used 
by  the  Red  Cross  as  a  relief  station  during  the  Mississippi 
flood. 

The  Red  Cross  spent  thousands  of  dollars  during  this  flood, 
saving  many  lives  and  helping  hundreds  of  flood  victims. 

Can  you  name  some  of  the  things  the  people  needed? 

What  do  you  suppose  they  think  of  the  Red  Cross? 

Imagine  that  a  great  wind  storm  or  cyclone  should  come 
very  suddenly  whirling  through  your  city,  tearing  down 
houses,  uprooting  trees,  and  leaving  thousands  of  people 
homeless — who  would  be  the  first  to  help  the  people  who 
were  hurt? 

213 


This  is  just  an  example  of  the  way  the  Red  Cross  is  stand- 
ing ready  to  help  in  time  of  need. 

If  you  read  the  Red  Cross  Magazine  you  will  learn  about 
hundreds  of  golden  deeds  which  the  Red  Cross  is  doing,  for 
the  work  of  the  Red  Cross  in  times  of  peace  and  at  all  times 
is  to  help  people  in  distress  and  need. 


214 


THE  AMERICAN  RED  CROSS  IN 
TIMES  OF  WAR 

The  work  of  the  Red  Cross  during  war  is 

First.  To  care  for  and  nurse  the  wounded 
among  our  own  soldiers  and  sailors,  and  even 
the  wounded  of  the  enemy  who  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  Red  Cross. 

Of  course,  in  order  to  do  this,  millions  of 
people  who  are  not  doing  the  nursing  can  make 
the  articles  needed  for  that  purpose.  What  can 
the  Junior  Red  Cross  do  to  help? 

Second.  To  care  for  the  families  of  the  soldiers 
and  sailors  who  have  given  their  services  to  their 
country. 

How  can  the  Junior  Red  Cross  help? 

BEFORE  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  RED  CROSS 

Do  you  suppose  that  people  always  felt  that 
they  should  help  everybody  in  such  ways? 

No;  the  Red  Cross  is  not  yet  sixty  years  old. 

War  is  thousands  of  years  old. 

In  olden  days  when  soldiers  fought,  there  were 
no  kind  Red  Cross  nurses  to  care  for  the 
wounded.  There  were  no  faithful  Red  Cross 
dogs  to  search  for  wounded  soldiers  after  the 
battle  was  over. 

215 


Often  the  suffering  men  died  of  neglect  when 
proper  nursing  would  have  saved  their  lives. 
But  no  one  ever  thought  of  sending  a  band  of 
women  nurses  to  wars  to  help  the  soldiers, 
before  the  days  of  Florence  Nightingale. 

Florence  Nightingale 

Florence  was  a  little  English  girl  who  always 
said  that  when  she  grew  up  she  would  be  a  nurse. 

She  felt  sorry  to  see  any  living  creature  suffer 
and  always  tried  to  help  it.  Sometimes  it  was 
a  bird  with  a  broken  wing  or  an  injured  rabbit 
that  she  tended. 

All  the  neighbors  brought  their  sick  pets  to 
her.  The  little  nurse  finally  had  so  many 
patients  that  her  father  gave  her  a  corner  of  the 
greenhouse  for  a  hospital.  The  animals  learned 
to  love  her  and  she  had  many  friends  among 
them  as  you  may  imagine. 

When  she  was  a  young  woman  nursing  in  a 
London  hospital,  England's  soldiers  were  sent 
to  war  with  Russia's  soldiers.  They  had  to 
travel  in  ships  all  the  way  to  the  Crimea  in 
Russia.  You  see,  they  were  a  great  distance 
from  home. 

News  of  their  terrible  sufferings  reached  Flor- 
ence Nightingale  in  the  hospital.  Taking  a 

216 


band  of  nurses  with  her  she  went  to  nurse  the 
wounded  soldiers  in  that  far  off  land. 

When  the  nurses  arrived  there,  they  found 
thousands  of  sick  and  wounded  men  lying  on 
the  hospital  floors  with  no  one  to  help  them. 
A£  once  the  brave  nurses  began  to  take  care  of 
the  soldiers  as  kindly  as  your  mother  takes  care 
of  you  when  you  are  ill. 

Do  you  wonder  that  many  who  would  have 
died,  lived  and  were  grateful  all  their  lives  to 
the  nurses? 

Of  course  there  were  no  gas  or  electric  lights 
in  the  rough  hospitals  of  those  days,  so  that 
Miss  Nightingale  always  carried  a  lighted  lamp 
when  she  made  her  good-night  rounds.  The 
weary  soldiers  looked  for  the  gleam  of  the  lamp 
in  the  darkness  and  were  made  happy  by  her 
words  of  encouragement.  That  is  how  she  came 
to  be  called  "The  Lady  of  the  Lamp." 

The  story  of  Florence  Nightingale  and  her 
brave  band  spread  far  and  near.  It  touched 
the  hearts  of  people  everywhere,  and  made  them 
think  about  what  could  be  done  to  relieve  suffer- 
ing even  before  the  days  of  the  Red  Cross. 


217 


Copyright  and  reproduced  6y  courtesy  of  "  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal" 
TELL  A  STORY  ABOUT  THIS  PICTURE 


218 


HOW  THE  RED  CROSS  CAME  TO  BE 

Among  those  who  heard  the  story  of  what 
Florence  Nightingale  and  her  brave  nurses  did 
for  the  soldiers,  was  Henri  Du-nant.  a  kind- 
hearted  Swiss  gentleman. 

He  remembered  it  several  years  afterward 
when  he  was  present  at  a  terrible  battle  between 
the  soldiers  of  Austria  and  those  of  France  and 
Sardinia.  He  saw  thousands  of  wounded  sol- 
diers dying  almost  without  help. 

In  a  book  which  he  wrote  about  their  suffer- 
ings, he  asked  the  question,  "Why  could  not 
the  people  of  all  countries  make  plans  to  care 
for  the  sick  and  wounded  during  wars?" 

And  from  his  question  came  the  great  Red 
Cross  work  in  which  we  all  have  a  part. 

The  Red  Cross  is  more  wonderful  than  any 
war,  for  it  comes  from  the  kindness  in  people's 
thoughts. 

We  hope  that  long  years  from  now  there  will 
be  no  war. 

But  we  cannot  expect  to  have  wars  cease  until 
the  people,  and  not  the  kings,  of  the  great 
countries  of  the  world  make  their  own  laws. 

Henri  Dunant  and  Florence  Nightingale  were 
like  the  children  of  today  when  they  were  little. 

219 


They  liked  to  play  the  same  kinds  of  games  that 
you  do. 

When  Florence  played  nurse  with  her  dolls  she 
did  not  dream  of  the  great  good  she  would  do 
for  the  whole  world. 

It  may  be  that  some  of  the  boys  and  girls  who 
are  now  reading  this  story  will  be  like  Henri 
Dunant  and  Florence  Nightingale,  and  will 
grow  up  to  do  great  and  noble  work  for  others. 

QUESTIONS 

I 

What  do  you  think  of  people  who  help  other  people  in 
trouble? 

What  do  you  think  of  people  who  do  not  help  people  who 
are  in  need  of  help? 

Do  you  realize  that  the  work  of  the  Red  Cross  is  entirely 
the  helping  of  people  who  need  help? 

Did  a  good  neighbor  ever  come  to  your  house  and  help 
your  people  in  time  of  illness  or  trouble? 

You  would  be  glad  to  help  other  people  in  just  some  such 
way,  wouldn't  you? 

Are  you  not  glad  that  the  Junior  Red  Cross  gives  you  a 
chance  to  pass  such  kindness  along? 

II 

Mention  some  of  the  good  deeds  which  you  know  the 
Junior  Red  Cross  has  done. 

220 


Have  you  ever  sold  Red  Cross  Christmas  seals?  What 
does  the  Red  Cross  do  with  the  money  made  from  the  sale 
of  Christmas  seals? 

How  old  is  the  Junior  Red  Cross? 

It  is  a  pretty  young  baby  to  have  accomplished  so  much, 
isn't  it?  But  do  you  know  how  fast  it  has  grown? 

When  you  see  a  person  wearing  a  Red  Cross  button,  you 
know  many  things  about  that  person. 

Here  are  a  few  of  the  things  that  are  shown  : 

1.  Kindness.    2.  Helpfulness.    3.  Love  of  one's  country. 

Can  you  name  others? 


Copr.  Underwood  &  Underwood 

THIS   LITTLE   DOG'S   MISTRESS   SAYS  THAT  HE  IS  TOO  YOUNG  TO  ENLIST  NOW, 
BUT  WHEN   HE    GROWS   UP   HE   WANTS   TO   BE    A    RED   CROSS   ARMY   DOG. 


221 


HOW  I  CAN  HELP  THE  RED  CROSS 

IN  TIME  OF  WAR 
AND  IN  TIME  OF  PEACE 

1.  By  belonging  to  the  Red  Cross  and  trying 
to  get  others  to  belong. 

2.  By  learning  to  save  in  order  that  suffering 
children  elsewhere  may  have  their  share  of  food 
and  clothing. 

3.  By  helping  to  prepare  some  of  the  supplies 
that  wounded  soldiers  and  homeless  families  are 
in  need  of. 

4.  By  reading  stories  of  relief  and  rescue  so 
that  I  can  tell  others  about  the  Red  Cross. 

5.  By  learning  to  be  a  good  citizen  of  my 
country  even  before  I  grow  up. 

The  Junior  Members  of  the  Red  Cross  try  to 
share  their  good  things  with  those  who  do  not 
have  them. 


The  members  of  the  American  Red  Cross  have  two 
flags. 

This  boy  has  two  flags.     Why? 

Do  you  have  two  flags? 

Do  you  wear  a  Red  Cross  button? 

Has  your  school  an  American  Red  Cross  School  Auxiliary 
banner? 

Do  you  know  that  the  American  Red  Cross  serves  the 
government  of  the  United  States,  and  that  the  members  of 
the  Red  Cross  are  the  best  citizens  of  our  country? 

The  Red  Cross  means  being  good  neighbors — working 
together. 

223 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAMP 
A  PLAY 

Characters : 

Florence  Nightingale,  the.  nurse 

Frances,  her  sister 

Flossie,  her  doll 

Harry  Miller,  Doctor  Make-believe 

Old  Roger,  the  shepherd 

Captain,  the  hurt  dog 

Mr.  Vicar,  the  minister 

Soldiers,  doctors,  and  other  nurses 

Act  I.     The  Sick  Doll 
Scene.     In  an  English  Garden. 

Frances.     Come  on!      Let's  play  tag,  Florence. 

Florence.  I  can't,  Frances.  Flossie  is  too  sick. 
Won't  you  play  you  are  the  doctor,  and  come 
see  her? 

Frances.  Oh,  no;  you  always  want  to  play  the 
same  thing!  Your  dolls  are  always  sick!  I 
believe  you  love  the  broken  ones  better  than  the 
others. 

Florence.  Yes,  I  do.  I'm  going  to  be  a  nurse 
when  I  grow  up.  Well,  if  you  don't  want  to 

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play  that  you  are  the  doctor,  I  am  going  to  ask 
Harry  Miller  to  play  that  he  is.  (Goes  to  the  hedge 
and  calls.}  Oh,  Harry,  come  on  over,  and  play 
you  are  the  doctor  for  my  sick  dolls. 

Frances.  Come  on,  Harry,  I  am  going  to  be 
the  druggist. 

Harry.  All  right,  girls;  I'll  be  over  in  a 
minute. 

Florence.     Don't  forget  your  medicine  case. 

Harry  (entering).  Good  morning,  madam.  Is 
your  little  child  ill? 

Act  the  rest  of  the  story  yourselves. 


Act  II.     Good  Old  Cap 
Scene.     In  an  English  Village  Street. 

(Florence  is  riding  on  her  little  pony.  With  her  on 
horseback  is  Mr.  Vicar,  the  minister  of  the  village 
church.) 

Mr.  Vicar.     What  a  lovely  day,  Florence. 

Florence.  It  is  a  beautiful  day,  Mr.  Vicar.  I 
am  so  glad  we  are  going  to  call  to  see  old  Mrs. 
Williams.  I  hope  she  is  better  than  when 
mother  last  saw  her. 

225 


Mr.  Vicar.  I  have  not  heard  from  her  for 
some  days. 

Florence  (looking  off  in  the  distance).  Oh,  there  is 
old  Roger  trying  to  gather  his  sheep  together. 
Why,  I  wonder  where  his  dog  is.  (They  ride  up.) 

Mr.  Vicar.  Good  morning,  Roger.  You  seem 
to  be  having  trouble. 

Roger.     That  I  am,  sir.     Good  morning,  miss. 

Florence.     Why,  where  is  your  good  dog,  Cap? 

Roger.  Some  boys  threw  stones  at  him  and 
broke  his  leg.  I  am  afraid  he  will  never  be  able 
to  run  again. 

Florence.     Oh,  how  dreadful! 

Roger.  Yes,  I  miss  him  so  much.  He  was 
such  a  help. 

Florence  (to  Mr.  Vicar,  in  a  whisper) .  I  wonder  if 
we  could  see  the  dog.  We  might  be  able  to 
do  something  for  him. 

Mr.  Vicar.     Where  is  your  dog,  Roger? 

Roger.     At  home,  beside  the  fire. 

(Mr.  Vicar  and  Florence  ride  to  the  cottage.  They 
find  that  Cap's  leg  is  not  broken,  but  is  sprained. 
Florence  asks  for  hot  water,  and  bathes  and  bandages  the 
leg.  In  a  few  days  the  dog  recovers  and  helps  Roger 
with  the  sheep.) 

Act  out  the  rest  of  the  story  yourselves. 

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Act  III.     The  Lady  of  the  Lamp 

Scene.  In  a  hospital.  Soldiers  are  lying  on  cots 
and  chairs.  Florence  Nightingale  comes 
in  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand. 

First  Soldier.  Hush,  here  comes  the  Angel  of 
Mercy  to  look  after  us  poor  fellows.  How  tired 
she  must  be  after  working  all  day. 

Second  Soldier.     Yes,  the  Lady  of  the  Lamp. 

Third  Soldier.  She  has  done  more  for  our 
country  than  all  the  soldiers  during  this  terrible 
war. 

All  the  Soldiers.  That  she  has.  May  Heaven 
bless  her  brave  heart! 


America !    America ! 

Thy  loyal  children  we ! 
Dear  Mother  Land,  our  lives  we  pledge 

In  service  unto  thee. 


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YOU  and  I 

And  ALL  of  US  TOGETHER 

Will  make  this  WORLD  of  OURS 
Sorry  and  Sad— 

IF 

YOU  and  I 

And  ALL  of  US  TOGETHER 
Do  not 

DO  RIGHT. 

BUT 
YOU  and  I 

And  ALL  of  US  TOGETHER 

Will  make  THIS  WORLD  of  OURS 
HAPPY  and  GLAD— 


BECAUSE 
YOU  and  I 
And  ALL  of  US  TO- 
GETHER 
WILL 
DO  RIGHT! 


We  Will  Be 

GOOD  CITIZENS,  FOR  WE  LOVE  OUR 
COUNTRY  AND  OUR  FLAG. 

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./ 

54l;*41 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


